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Jan., /??/. 



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An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol. LXl 

Xon&ou : 






ACROSTICS 37, 163,231,350,460,500 


Illustrations by Geoffrey Watson. 
AIR TRAIL, THE W Douglas Newton 373 

Illustrations by Dudley Tennant. 

BARBFNS OF BARBEN-LACY, THE Horace Annesley VatheU. 321 

\ Pus t rations by John Campbell. 
BROWN OF BOOMOONOOMAXA M or ley Roberts 207 

Illustrations by Prank Gillett, R.I. 

CINEMA, MAKING-UP FOR THE M.Owston- Booth. 351 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


COMING OF GOVVF, THE P. G. Wodehouse. 413 

• Illustrations bv G. Morrow. 

Illustrations bv Helen McKte 


The Detective Methods of Different Countries Compared. 

Illustrations by E. Verpilleux 

DROLLS, THREE: George R03EY, Nelson Keys, and Grock A. B. Walkley. $t 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

Illustrations from Facsimiles. 

ERRORS, A NEW COMEDY OF Barry Pain. 86,412 

Illustrations by Treyer Evans. 

FAIRIES, THE EVIDENCE FOR. With More Fairy Photographs .. A. Conan Doyle. 199 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Drawing*. 


I.— The Man Who Lived at Clapham 402 

IL— The Man with the Canine Teeth 467 

Illustrations by E. Verpilleux. 

GOD'S TRUTH H. C. McNeile (" Sapper "). 72 

Illustrations bv Norah Schlegel. 


Stidy These Film Picttres and Improve Your Game. 

Illustrations from Films. 


Fifty Years of Scene- Punting. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

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Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 

Illustrations by Frank Insall. 



\V. Douglas Newton, 1S9 
Sydney Hcrler. 356 

Illustrations by A. Gilbert, R.O.I. 

Sir E. Marshall-Hall, K.C. 47^ 


Illustrations by Charles Crombie. 

LAST LAUGH, THE . . . . 

Illustrations by H. II . Harris. 


Illustrations by W. E. Webster 

. J. J. Bell, 553 

Raymond A. Coulson. 365 

Sarah Bernhardt, 3 


New Light on Napoleon : His Wife's Honeymoon Diary. 
Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.I., and from Engravings. 

MING VASE, THE . . . . 

Illustrations by VV. Smithson BroadheaH. 


Illustrations by Treyer Evans. 


Illustrations by E. H. Shepard. 


Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 
Illustrations from Facsimiles and a Portrait. 


III. — Pussyfoot in Mischief 

IV. — The Reckoning with Otto Schreed 

V.— The Rift 

VI. — Satan and the Spirit 

VIL— Mr. Homor's Legacy 

VIII. —The Invincible Truth 

Illustrations by S. Abbey 

Kathlyn Rhodes. 13S 

Lloyd Williams. 553 

P. G. Wodehouse. 257 

Perceval Gibbon. 492 

Mark Hamboura. 267 

E. Phillips Oppenheim 




.. .. ..310 




Illustrations by Treyer Evans. 

Barry Pain. S6, 412 


Illustrations by Frank Gillett, R.I. 
"ON THE LINE" .. .. 

Illustrations bv Wilmot Lunt. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

Stacv Aumonier. 501 

T. Joyce. 454 

An Interview bv Sidney Dark. 305 

PERPLEXITIES ^ Henry E. Dudenev. 91, i-S6. 278. 370, 443, 55** 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 



Sir Edward Marshall-Hall. K.C, with a Character-Sketch by T. P. O'Connor, M.P. 7c 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
PRINCE CHARMING, OCR : A Character-Sttdy of the Prince of Walks .. E. T. Raymond 13 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

Illustrations bv Arthur Ferrier. 
PSYCHOLOGY OF THE JURY, THE Sir E. Marshall -Hall K.C. 47^ 

Illustrations bv A. Gilbert. R.O.I. 


Illustrations bv E. IT. Sheoar<l. 





Illustrations bv E. H. Shepard. 

Illustrations by Frank Gillett, R.I. 


An Interview with Mr Joseph IIarker. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

Illustrations by Balliol Salmon. 

Illustrations by S. Seymour Lucas. 

.Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale, and Iroin Photographs. 

Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 

Illustrations by Harold Copping. 


Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale, and from Photographs. 

Illustrations by Sydney Seymour Lucas. 

Illustrations bv E. F. Sherie. 

UNCHARTED COAST, THE. VI.— A Worker of Wonders 

Illustrations by Howard K. Elcock, and from a Photograph. 


Illustrations bv \V. E. Webster. 


Illustrations by Howard K. Elcork 

Illustrations by Charles Crombie and Frank Reynolds. 


Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 


Illustrations by Charles Crombie. 


Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills 


Illustrations by E. Prater 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 

P G. Wodehouse. 483 

. . Lynn Doyle. 63 

Reginald Pound. 173 

Roland Per twee. 432 

F. Britten Austin 281 

. Tetrazztm. 33c, 383 541 

PC. Wodehouse. 19 

A. S. M Hutchinson. 109 

33°- 3*3< 54i 

F Britten Austin. 95 

Roland Per twee. 220 

A. Conan Doyle 423 

. Sarah Bernhardt. 293 

Dr. Ethel Smyth. 250 

L. T. Raymond. 511 

R. de Vere Stacpoole 179 

H. C. MrNrfle C Sapper ") 444 

P. G. Wodehouse 164 

L. J. Beeston 271 

Ethel M. Dell. 45, 153 241 

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C,h.»K;K NKVNNKs. UMITKD. ^nnVMlTO. .-.TKthl. AND ejJ'NiV EftitFj *'3<ImW|| GHIfa.A N NfiLANI* 




Jan., 192 i. 

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The great French actress kere tells a story of tke Stage wkifck she 

knows so welL It is a new departure -which -will excite great 

interest, and readers -will look forward with eagerness to the other 

stories from her pen which we shall puhlish m early numbers. 

STANDING on tip-toe, her delicate 
eyebrows drawn into straight lines 
and her lips pressed together, Arlette 
d'Ormange pulled tighter the knot of 
her husband's cravat and settled it into place. 
" There ! " she said, with satisfaction, and 
while he stood in the helpless attitude of the 
husband at such moments she added a final 
word of advice. " I beg you, do not be too 
modest, Robert. If you have a fault, it is that 
you are too modest. Did not your professor 
at the Lyc6e Concordet say so ? Above all, 
do not forget what I have said to you — read 
your play to Monsieur Courleville, and on no 
account leave the manuscript. I have seen 
that man, and I do not trust him." 

She backed away, regarding her husband's 
toilet critically, while he stood awaiting her 
judgment. He was a young man, but, in 
spite of his twenty-three years, strangers did . 
riot say of Robert d'Ormange, " What a 
handsome boy ! " but " What a charming 
man ! " His wife, having finished her scru- 
tiny, blew him a kiss from the tips of her 
firfgefs and cried, " Perfect ! You are per- 
fect ! " 

Then, taking a thick manuscript from the 
table, she rolled it carefully, fastened the 
ends with rubber bands, and tenderly gave 

Vol. Ixi.~1. 

it to him. " If Monsieur Courleville is 
sincere, he will have your play produced at 
once, for it is superb." 

Taking the pretty face between his hands, 
he kissed her fondly, but with an indulgent 
laugh. " Isn't that just like a woman ! 
Superb ! Poor little darling, your tender- 
ness for me blinds you." 

Arlette shook her fluffy head stubbornly. 
" To say that I love you is not to say that I 
am blind. It is a superb play. You have a 
novel situation in it, and I am sure that you 
have written it beautifully." 

" But, my dear — superb ? " 

" Superb ! " Arlette repeated, energetic- 
ally. " You have written it, but I, I have 
read and re-read it. And my opinion is 
important, sir ! Am I not secretary to. Robert 
d'Ormange, Assistant Professor of Litera- 
ture at the Lyc6e Concordet, husband of the 
ravishing Arlette d'Ormange, arid soon to be 
acclaimed as the great playwright ? Superb, 
I say! " \ 

With his arms around her, she^ tipped her 
head backward to utter. the last three words, 
in a tone of passionate conviction, before his 
lips touched hers The kiss thanked her for 
the confidence he felt born in him. 

"vr«>_^» /nE^J^i^-l^^h ^^j&iv" ■^ 4: ^ ; - ^"^ ? -^* wiu be late '" 

Love Wins 

she said, conducting him to the stairway out- 
side their door. Leaning on the banister, 
she watched him descend, and when he had 
gone so far that dignity would not permit 
him to reply, she cried down the stairs, 
"Superb! Superb!" 

An intangible sense of happiness pervaded 
the three tiny rooms to which she returned — 
rooms which for eight months now they had 
made their home. 

Arlette was the daughter of a foreman in 
a button factory. Fortune had given the 
factory foreman and his wife two children. 
Georgina, the hard-fibred, impulsive rebel, 
and Arlette, the wistful, sensitive dreamer. 
The parents had worshipped Arlette without 
understanding her; without understanding 
Georgina, they had tried to conquer her. It 
was one of the silent, unnoticed tragedies in 
the hearts of commonplace families. At 
sixteen Georgina was living her own head- 
strong life with a travelling stock company 
in the south of France. Arlette, in her 
fifteenth year, was working in a florist's 
shop in the Rue Bremontier. 

MME. C AMPON, the florist, was a woman 
whose soul, within its covering of round 
and ample flesh, remained as young as 
the infantile lines of her plump hands. She 
loved and knew flowers ; she knew and loved 
Arlette. Love for the girl and love for her 
young cousin, Robert d'Ormange, came 
together in her heart and made the romance 
upon which her life centred after the death 
of her own adored daughter, a pitiful and 
surly hunchback who died in adolescence. It 
was the florist who sent Robert d'Ormange into 
the courtyard where Arlette worked among 
the Easter lilies ; it was she who watched the 
light in the young student's eyes and the flush 
in Arlette 's cheeks, and it was she to whom 
Robert came with his first confidences, beg- 
ging her to ask Arlette 's parents to give him 
their daughter in marriage. He was a poor 
student, and Arlette had no dot. The parents 
hesitated, and Arlette 's tears glistened among 
the drops of water with which she sprinkled 
the violets each morning. But Mme. 
Campon came to the rescue, giving her little 
prottgie the twelve thousand francs that she 
had saved franc by franc for her own dead 
daughter. It was money enough to furnish 
a modest apartment ; Robert earned three 
hundred and fifty francs a month. The 
parents consented to give him the hand of 
Arlette, then seventeen years old, and the 
cloudy skies of a Paris July were filled with 
rainbows for Robert and his little fiancee, 
who, under the approving eyes of Mme. 
Campon, kissed each other behind the counter 
among the roses. 

A serious little girl, the fiancee, though she 
was only seventeen and looked like a spray 

of lilies-of-the-valley in the sunshine, as 
Mme. Campon said. Knowing the burden 
her young husband -was lifting to his shoul- 
ders, she set herself secretly to learn type- 
writing, planning when they were married to 
surprise Robert by being able to contribute 
something to their small income. But 
Robert's surprise had not been as happy as 
she had anticipated. \Mien he recovered 
from the shock of it he sternly refused her 
his permission to work for others. Still, her 
typewriting had brought her the joy of feel- 
ing that she was helping him with the great 
play, which he had allowed her to copy for 

" Superb ! " she repeated to herself, think- 
ing of it. " If only he will read it to Monsieur 
Courleville as he has read it to me ! " Robert 
had been gone only ten minutes, but she was 
already leaning from the window, watching 
the entrance to the courtyard below. 
" Above all things, he must not leave the 
manuscript. I don't like Monsieur Courle- 
ville 's smile," she thought, uneasily. 

At that moment Robert was climbing the 
two flights of broad stairs that led to 
the famous man's apartment. He held the 
manuscript carefully in his gloved hand and 
tapped the steps with his cane, trying with 
an aspect of jaunty self-confidence to hide 
his trepidation. But the attempt failed in 
the presence of the valet who received him 
and ushered him into a luxurious salon. 

" Monsieur Courleville will be with you in 
a few moments," the man said, closing the 
door softly. Robert, waiting uneasily, saw 
that the great dramatist was a lover of paint- 
ings and engravings. They were every- 
where, on the silk-covered walls, on the 
gilded satin-upholstered chairs, even on the 
floor leaning against inlaid tables. He 
examined them with interest, for he loved 
all the arts and, young as he was, knew not a 
little about them. 

" That is not a Tiepolo ! " he said to him- 
self. " That cannot be a Tiepolo ! " He had 
read the signature on one of the canvases, 
but he could not believe it, for the picture 
was a smudge, from which appeared a poorly- 
drawn head. Leaning closer to read once 
more the incredible signature, he heard a 
movement behind him, and turned round 

M. Courleville was a large, handsome 
man whose eyes were ostentatiously frank. 
He spoke with large, open gestures that 
said, " See how honest I am, concealing 
nothing ! " With such a gesture he ap- 
proached Robert, who nervously clutched 
his manuscript and cleared his throat. But 
M. Courleville spoke first. " What do you 
think of my Tiepolo ? " 

" I do net think it is a Tiepolo," the young 
man ^ptied^^^.fl!. Courleville 

Sarah Bernhardt 


You must go, dear t or you will be late,* 
she said, and leaning on the banister she 
watched him descend/* 

flushed slightly, and Robert saw that the 
frankness of his eyes was denied by the thin, 
pinched mouth that turned down at the 

M Ah ! You are a connoisseur, I see ! " 
the dramatist said, laughing heartily. M Well, 
you have come to show me a manuscript, 
Ciive it tome; I will read it. You can rely 
on me, you know ; I am absolutely frank, 
Yes, yes, as frank as you are," he added, 
indicating the picture. 4i You will hear 
from me soon, my friend. Good afternoon/ 1 

He took the roll and, with a courteous bow, 
left the room as quickly as he had entered it, 
Robert had not been able to speak a word 
after his unhappy verdict on the false 
Tiepolo. The valet reappeared, opening the 
door, and the voung man found himself again 
in the street. 

Arlette, having told herself twenty times 
that Robert could not possiblv return within 
an hour, was nevertheless still gazing down- 
ward at the arched entrance of the court- 
yard. Her eyes widened with surprise and 
alarm when he appeared. Even the top of 
his hat and the foreshortened glimpse of Ins 
nervously- agitated cane seemed to her to 
express some t lung of indecision and dismay. 
He passed beneath the trees, hesitated at 
the doorway, and then, without glancing 
upwanj, gripped his cane more firmly and 
entered. She heard him whistling bravely 
as he climbed the stairs. 

"' Robert ! What has happened ? * J she 
cried, meeting him on the landing. 

'" Nothing, Nothing at all, my dear/' he re- 
plied, "Monsieur Courle vi lie was most kind/' 

' What did he say about the play ? JN 

" Well, he didn't exactly say anything/' 
Robert explained. He ti ok off his gloves 
while she stood anxiously holding his hat and 
cane. ' Of course, he is a very busy man. 
He promised to give me his opinion as soon 
as possible/' 

11 Oh, Robert I And you left the play with 

him ? You didn t ever read it to him," she 
told him, dismayed. 

11 Never mind, tnu chine. Don't bother 
your little head about it," he answered, 
drawing her to him and kissing the curl that 
lay against her cheek, " You don't under* 
stand these things, darling* You know I did 
the best I could/' 

11 Of course, Robert dear. Rut I wish you 
had not left it vriUij ftim^, You know I don't 

*™* 6m-tt5rTY' OF MICHIGAN 

Love Wins 

" But you don't know anything about him ! 
You have seen him only once, passing in a 
carriage. Be reasonable, sweetheart. It's 
absurd to look at a man and say you can't 
trust him — a man whom all the world re- 
spects, too." 

She sat on his knee, running a finger round 
and round a button on his coat. " Tell me 
just what happened, Robert dear," she 
coaxed, with the charm of an infant who 
begs for a fairy story ; and her large, atten- 
tive eyes drew the truth from him. 

" You see, I did the best I could, little one. 
I was wrong perhaps to tell him that his 
picture was an imitation Tiepolo, but he 
took it in good part. I am sure he was not 
offended. And there was no choice about 
leaving the play with him. I was in his 
house, asking him for a favour ; he took the 
manuscript in the most cordial way, and did 
not stop talking until he left the room. I 
couldn't interrupt him, could I ? " 

" Of course not, dearest. Only I wish — 
but that doesn't matter, and I am only a 
stupid little thing. Come, luncheon is wait- 
ing/ 1 

When the meal was over and Robert 
had gone to the Lyc6e f Arlette cleared the 
table and sat down to needlework. She 
smiled to herself while her fingers moved 
daintily above the weblike threads, and 
when the sharp trill of the doorbell struck 
through the silence she started as though 
awakened from a dream. Quickly she crossed 
the room and opened the tiny Judas-window, 
for Robert had made her promise solemnly 
never to unlock the door without first seeing 
her visitor. 

" Oh, it's you ! " she cried, flinging the 
door wide and throwing herself into the arms 
of her sister Georgina. 

" Yes, it's what's left of me," said Georgina, 
heartily returning the hug. " And you, little 
one ? You are well ? " Without waiting 
for a reply, she plumped herself into a 
chair, breathing with a violence that shook 
the plumes in her hat like trees in a wind. 
" Wait till I get my breath. Four steep 
flights of stairs, and no lift ! You know, I 
have lost the habit of such climbing," 

ARLETTE laughed, fanning her sister 
with an end of Georgina's scarf. ** It's 
true the stairs are steep. But I'm 
only a little middle-class wife, and not a 
beautiful actress spoiled by lifts ! " 

" You are a love of a little sister," Georgina 
answered, fondly. " And climbing stairs 
does help one to keep one's figure. But I 
did not pant up to these heights to talk about 
myself. Listen, my pet. I chose this hour 
purposely because your husband is at the 
Lycie. Though I must say he isn't as 
crankv as our dear father, who has forbidden 

mamma to see me. Not that that prevents 
our meeting even* week. Just because I 
want to live independently and refuse to 
marry they will do nothing but quarrel with 
me. But all the same, I am what is called 
an honest girl — you know that, Arlette,and 
mamma knows it too. But people do not want 
to believe it. Men think so much of them- 
selves that they imagine a woman cannot 
live without their love and protection. Oh, 
well, as for me, I love no one and have need 
of no one, and I am happy enough. But it 
is not to repeat all this that I have come to 
you, in spite of your stairs. It is just that 
one word leads to another, until a sentence 
becomes a speech. It is idiotic. Forget it. 
Now listen, my sweetest. Did your husband 
take a play to Courleville lately ? " 

" Yes, this morning. ' Love Wins.' But 
how " 

" That's it ! A good name, too, that 
would advertise well. Is it a good play ? " 

" A good play ! Oh, Georgina, it's a won- 
derful play ! " 

" I thought so ! I said to myself that it 
was, when I saw how careful he was to hide 
the manuscript from me ! " Georgina ex- 
claimed, the plumes in her hat nodding 
vigorously in support of her words. 

" But how did you know about it ? " 

" To-day I lunched with that shameless 
pirate. He wanted to see me about my part, 
and I lunched in his apartment because I am 
unconventional and I know how to treat a 
man like that. He talked about a new play, 
and I w r as curious to know the name of the 
latest victim he was preparing to strangle, 
for I know him ! He lives by stealing the 
ideas of young unknown writers, like a thief 
of the streets. While we were eating a 
visitor arrived, and Courleville left the table 
at once to see him, for it was a member of 
the Academy, and Courleville hopes to be 
elected. He is eaten up with vanity, like 
an apple with maggots. Well, while he was 
gone I lost no time. I read the name on the 
manuscript he had left beside his plate. You 
can imagine what a turn it gave me to see 
the name of my sister's husband ! At that 
instant Courleville hurried back, and while I 
pretended to have seen nothing he took thv 
manuscript, looking at me as sharply as 
though he thought that I, too, was a thief. 
Oh, it is simple enough for him ! He poses 
as a patron of the arts, he draws young men 
to him for advice and help, they give him 
their plays. He changes the names of the 
characters, or does some little thing to the 
plot, and vaild ! a new play by the great 
Courleville, and he grows fatter with money 
and praise. All the world knows it." 

Arlette 's eyes were wide with amazement. 
" But, Geortfin?L ¥ Mow can he ? Why do 
they IcflHlftKgft #F«« knows ? " 

Sarah Bernhardt 

" Oh, as for that, everybody's business is 
nobody's business. Knowing a thing is not 
proving it, and one has troubles enough 
without bothering with the troubles of others. 
As for the public, if it is amused it asks no 
questions. -The managers of theatres aren't 
eager to offend a man who brings them 
successful plays ; the Society of Authors 
does not want a scandal. Who is left to 
attack the brigand Courleville ? Only the 
victims whose bones he has already picked. 
Believe me, my poor Arlette, he is about to 
make a meal of your husband." 

" Oh, I knew he wasn't a man to be trusted! 
The moment I saw him I did not like his 
mouth. But, Georgina, it is the play Robert 
has been working on for two years ! " cried 
Arlette. Two large tears trembled on her 
lashes, but no others followed them, for 
her eyes were dried by anger. " It is an 
outrage ! " 

" Yes, yes, it is an outrage. But what can 
one do ? " 

" We must do something ! " Arlette said, 
springing to her feet. " Georgina, you know 
the theatre managers. Couldn't you take 
Robert's play to them, yourself ? At once, 
before that man has time " 

She opened the drawer of her little desk, 
and suddenly stood as dumb as a statue of 
horror. Georgina hurried to her. " My 
dear I What is it ? " 

" Oh, Georgina, I haven't any other copy 
of the play ! It is all my fault. I have 
ruined my darling Robert. He trusted me, 
Georgina ; he trusted me to copy his play, 
and I only made one copy. I had no carbon 
paper, and it costs so much. I meant to 
make another. I didn't know he was g ing 
to take it to M. Courleville to-day." 
. " But the manuscript — the original manu- 
script 1 " babbled Georgina, patting Arlette 's 
shaken shoulders. " You have the manu- 
script ? " 

" I remember now that I left it on the 
chair, and the m-maid must have taken it 
away. It is her day for selling all the waste 
paper. Oh, Georgina, it is gone, and Robert 
is ruined ! " 

" Never mind, cherie, never mind ! " Geor- 
gina repeated, kissing Arlette's hair. " It 
will be all right. Your husband can write 
another play. I will myself see what can be 
done. You will gain nothing by spoiling 
your complexion with tears. Perhaps the 
manuscript can be found. Be brave, little 
one. Do not lose heart. Alas ! I must 
hurry. I go on at three o'clock in the second 
act. Mon Dieu I It is already two ! " she 
exclaimed, glancing at the clock and kissing 
Arlette's wet cheeks. " Do not cry any 
more, darling ; it will not please Robert. 
Tears are all very well now and then, but no 
man likes swollen eyelids." Hastily seizing 

her handbag, she once more embraced her 
sister and hurried away, leaving Arlette in 

When Robert came home she tried to meet 
his happy kiss with her usual ardour, but 
her lips trembled with the dread of telling 
him the terrible news. Her pale face troubled 
him ; he asked at once if she had a headache, 
and she could only answer truthfully that 
she had. He made her lie down, surrounded 
her with pillows, and commanded her to be 
quiet. His clumsy care brought an ache to 
her throat, and she lay holding back her tears 
with tightly-closed lids, trying to gather 
courage to speak. She began faintly, " Geor- 
gina was here this afternoon." 

Robert's hand on her forehead staittd 
slightly, and then resumed its gentle stroking. 
He did not like Arlette seeing her sister. 

" Was she as foolish as usual ? " he asked, 
in a voice that tried to be patient. 

"' She — she didn't seem — foolish," Arktte 
murmured. " She " 

11 Yes, yes, sweetheart. She will become 
more reasonable as she grows older. I don't 
doubt that," Robert said, kindly. " All I 
ask is that she doesn't meddle in my affair.-. 
Don't try to talk, my dear, till your head- 
ache is better." 

The two tears that slipped down Arlette's 
cheeks terrified her husband. He took her 
in his arms and, carrying her into the bed- 
room, tenderly undressed her and put her 
between the cool sheets, forbidding her to 
utter another word. She heard him strug- 
gling with the gas stove in the transformed 
kitchen, and some time later he returned 
proudly with a bowl of hot broth, with which 
he fed her spoonful by spoonful while she 
swallowed obediently, too deeply touched to 
tell him that the soup was too salt. Then, 
exhausted, she fell asleep, holding his hand. 

NEXT morning, having ascertained that 
the maid had sold the manuscript with a 
bundle of old newspapers to a ragman, 
Arlette found him in his dingy basement 
and with her own fastidious hands searched 
through sacks of waste paper by the light of 
a guttering candle, but she did not find the 
manuscript. Still she refused to believe her 
fears, until the day when Robert came up 
the stairs with a letter from M. Courleville. 
She leaned against his arm and they read it 
together : — 

"Monsieur, — J have read with pleasure 
4 Love Wins. 1 There are good bits in it, very 
good bits indeed, but as a whole the play seems 
to me amateurish, and hardly suitable for 
production. Do not be discouraged, continue 
to work, write another play. Remember that a 
young writer seldom succeeds with his first 
effort. My fratikmss will prove to you wy 

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Sarah Bernhardt 9 

", Robert!" Arlette said, earnestly, who has accepted it. That is, merely the 

"But " plot, you understand. They dined together 

" Yes, I know, my darling. She is your last night and discussed it, Courleville 
sister, and naturally you love her. That is begins work on the play itself to-day." 

why I do not forbid you to see her; But you Oh, no 1 Oh, Georg " 

can't expect me to like it," he added. Then, " Wait. Let me tell you the whole thing, 

seeing that he had hurt her, he took her in It is not for nothing that I have spent a whole 
his arms and kissed her, and soon she was week flattering that man, with all the airs of 
smiling again. an uiginue. La, la ! they fall quickly into 

When he had gone she watched anxiously traps baited with food for their vanity, the 

men I Listen 
tome. He does 
not know that 
yoati are my 
sister and that 
I love you. 
Yes, yes, don't 
be impatient. 
Observe with 
me the irony of 
chance. This 
very morning 
that thief, 
tliat shameless 
brigand, asked 
me — listen, 
now ! — asked 
me if I knew a 
clever typist." 
Arlette rose 
from her chair. 
"Yes, my 
angel ! f J Geor- 
gina continued, 
1 ' Isn't it per- 
fect ? You may 
imagine I told 
him 1 knew 
one, ( She is 
stupid,' I said, 
1 and do not 
let me catch 
you at any non- 
sense with her, 
for she is a 
good girl and I 
am responsible 
to her parents. 
But she is &s 
clever with her 
fingers, my 
he cried. *That/ said Arlette, *is the play written by Robert d'Ormange, dear Courie- 
red to steal/ " ville, as you 

are clever with 
for her sister, and at the first glimpse of the your mind. 1 Darling, he falls into our hands 
bobbing plumes she ran to open the door, like a ripe plum, I have made an appoint- 
while Ceorgina panted up the stairs. ment for you to see him to-morrow morning 

4t Well, it is as I expected/' said Georgina, at nine o'clock. 1 ' 
falling into a chair that creaked loudly, " Oh, how I love you ! How I love you ! JJ 

astonished at the unexpected weight. I( He's cried Arlette, flinging her arms around Geor- 
done it* He's stolen the play and offered it to gina's neck, 
the manager of the Porte St, Martin Theatre, " Now, |TO|wrifj'-|^<jh|d 


Love Wins 

hiding her emotion. " You're crushing my 
hat, and you know better than to make me 
buy a new one in these days, when butter is 
so dear ! " She laughed again. " Well, 
chfrie, I leave you to fight it out with your 
Robert, but I depend on you to keep the 
appointment. Some day your husband will 
forgive me my love of liberty and write a 
good part for me," she added, embracing her 
sister in farewell. 

When Robert returned Arlette faced him, 
quivering with excitement. " Georgina came 
to tell me that Courleville has stolen your 
play and sold it as his own to the manager of 
the Porte St. Martin ! " she exclaimed. 

Robert sat down as though his legs had 
crumpled, and then bounded up again. 

" Is she sure of that ? " 

" Quite sure. But don't talk about it, 
Robert. It makes me sick to think of it." 

" It is infamous ! " cried Robert, striding 
round the room, gesticulating. " It is im- 
possible ! He has sold my play ? What can 
I do ? Nothing. I am unknown, a nobody. 
No one would believe it. And he steals — he 
dares to steal my play ? Two years of work, 
and he will fatten on it. My play, that has 
my heart's blood in it ! The scoundrel ! 
the " 

Arlette flung herself upon the couch and 
wept aloud. Her nerves had given way under 
the strain ; her tears were sincere. Robert 
called himself a brute to have forgotten her 
in his own rage. He knelt beside her, 
imploring her to stop crying. Her sobs 
became more violent ; his tenderness in- 
creased her unhappiness, but she remained 
determined to wring from him the consent 
she could get in no other way. " Will you — 
will you really do what I want ? " she 

" Yes, yes, darling. Anything. I swear 
it ! Tell me what it is, and I will do it, if you 
will only be calm. Arlette, you will make 
yourself ill." 

" I want — I want you to let me " 

" I will let you do anything you want to 
do, little one. I promise," he said, without 
reflection. Her sobs ceased gradually and 
she lay in his arms breathing in long, shudder- 
ing sighs. Now that she had won she was 
half terrified by her victory. 

" Tell me, dear, what it is you want to do." 

" Not now," she said. " To-morrow." 

DAWN found them both awake but silent, 
he ready to oppose he knew not what, 
she determined not to release him from 
his blind promise. At seven o'clock he rose 
and opened the shutters. 

"I am going out this morning," Arlette 
said, firmly. " I have an appointment at 
nine o'clock." 

Robert turned his head quickly. " You 

are going out this morning ! Where are you 
going ? " 

*' Ah, that is my secret ! You promised 
me I could have what I wanted. Well, this 
is what I want, dearest." She would have 
snuggled her head into the hollow of his 
shoulder, but he sat up, seizing her arm 
roughly. " I want to know where you are 
going," he said. 

She flushed and turned pale under his 
look. "Robert," she stammered, "don't 
you — don't you trust me? " 

There was such despair in her voice and 
such candour in her eyes that he softened. 
" Arlette, don't be stubborn. Tell me where 
you are going. I have given you my word, 
but " 

" Then you will let me do what I have 
resolved to do ? You swear it ? " 

" I have already told you that I will let 
you do it," he said, unnerved. " But tell me 
what it is." 

" Well, I am going at nine o'clock to pre- 
sent myself as a typist to M. Courleville." 

Robert leaped from the bed, clenching Lis 
hands. " You must be joking I You don't 
mean to say you'll go to that man's house ? " 

11 I must, Robert. I won't let him rob you 
of the success you've earned." 

Robert struck his fist against the bedpost. 
" That sister of yours has turned your head. 
I should have forbidden her to enter the 

" You would have created between us, 
dear, a situation that would have ended our 

*' But what can you expect to do in that 
man's house ? " 

" I have told you. I am going to copy the 
play — your play. And I swear to you that 
within a week I shall find some way to make 
that bandit beg for mercy." 

" She is mad — mad ! " cried Robert. 
" How can you suppose that you will be able 
to defeat a villain like that, a man who lives 
by deceit and theft ? You — a child who 
knows nothing whatever about the world ? " 

Arlette sank back against the pillows. 
Robert was discussing the possibility, which 
meant that she could persuade him to admit 
it. She had as a final weapon his promise, 
the promise to which she meant unrelentingly 
to hold him. It was a weapon that she used 
until, defeated but not wholly conquered, 
Robert yielded. 

" When shall you be home ? " he asked. 

" If I work to-day I will return at eleven. 
If he does not want me this morning I will 
come back immediately." 

He turned his back upon her and let her 
go without another word. She stopped on 
the way to lift her veil and wipe the tears 
from her eyes, but she was determined net 
to weaken. She rang M. Courleville p s bell 


Sarah Bernhardt 


firmly, and said to the valet, " Say that it is 
the typist." 

" Monsieur is expecting you," the man 
replied, leading the way to a small room next 
the dramatist's study. She sat down, fold- 
ing her hands to keep them from trembling, 
and in a moment she heard a voice saying, 
" Good ! It's your typist." 

" Shall I tell her you want her to begin 
work at once, old bby ? " Georgina's voice 

" Yes, do that. Oh, and tell her that I 
will give her two hundred francs to copy the 
play. That's enough, isn't it ? " 

" Enough — it's too much ! You're a 
generous old dear," Georgina replied, coming 
to her sister. 

" I can hear everything that's said in 
there," Arlette whispered. 

Georgina chuckled. " All the better. Can 
you begin work now ? All right ; there's the 
typewriter, get it ready. The bear will be 
here in a minute.". 

Courleville entered with a self-important 
air. " Ready to work ? Good. Here is 
my first act. Don't make any mistakes ; 
remember that you are copying one 
of my plays. The manager of the Porte 
St. Martin wants it immediately. What 
hours can you work ? " 

" From nine until eleven, monsieur, and 
from three to six in the afternoon." 

" Very well." He turned, and Arlette said 
to his retreating back : " And the title of the 
play, monsieur ? *I do not see it here." 

He paused, crossing his hands on his 
stomach, in the pose of a man thinking pro- 

" I beg your pardon, monsieur. I have 
found it now. ' Love Wins.' " The words 
were traced lightly in pencil on the margin 
of the written manuscript, as though done 
in a moment of absent-mindedness. 

-i What ! " he said, startled. " Oh, no. 
That is not the title of the play. I will 
decide upon one later." 

" I think this is a beautiful title," said 

"Yes. Oh, yes. But not quite what I 
want. No, I will not use it," Courleville 
replied, and returned to his study. 

ARLETTE slammed back the carriage of 
the machine and put her hands against 
her cheeks to cool them. " The beast ! " 
she said, between her teeth, and attacked 
the keys as though they were enemies. 

At eleven o'clock she hurried home to 
Robert, who sat sullenly staring at a criss- 
crossed sheet of new manuscript. Pretend- 
ing not to notice his coldness, she talked 
brightly while she put away her coat and 
hat, describing everything she had seen, until 
Robert became interested in spite of himself. 

" And how does he begin the first act ? " 

" Oh, he has found it easier to leave it as 
it was, simply copying it in his handwriting. 
He has changed the names and made the god- 
father the family doctor," she explained, 
laughing so gaily that he could not help 
smiling. But laughter, the solvent of so 
many troubles, could not destroy the shadow 
between them. 

Arlette had finished the third act and begun 
on the fourth, yet nothing had happened to 
keep her hope alive. She had been unable 
even to guess where Courleville kept Robert's 
manuscript. Her face grew thinner, and 
beneath her eyes appeared shadows of her 
restless nights and miserable days. On the 
fifth morning Robert forbade her to go out ; 
she reminded him of his promise and defied 
him. The storm ended in pale sunshine ; 
Robert allowed her to go to work, and she 
promised that if nothing decisive occurred 
that day she would not go again. 

" Who knows what may happen to-day ? 
Something must happen — it must ! " she 
repeated, as she began to work. Presently 
she heard voices from Courleville's study, and 
in a second her heart stopped, leaped, and 
began to beat loudly. She put one hand 
against it and stood up, leaning forward, 
listening. The phrases she heard told her 
that the manager of the Porte St. Martin 
and a journalist from Le Gaulois, the great 
Paris newspaper, were there, were separated 
from her only by a closed door. They were 
talking about the new play, Robert's play. 

She thought of breaking in upon them 
and telling them that it was his. They 
would not believe her ; she had no proof. 
She thought of breaking open the locked 
cabinets beside her and searching them 
desperately for Robert's manuscript. Twenty 
mad plans raced through her mind, and she 
knew that all were futile. She sank back in 
her chair, biting her lips, and the door 

" How much have you finished, mademoi- 
selle ? " Courleville demanded, entering with 
a self-satisfied smile. 

44 I am doing the third scene of the fourth 
act," she answered, in a stifled voice. 

" Good ! " Courleville turned to the man- 
ager, a little man, round and plump as a 
robin. " Suppose I read to our friend from 
Le Gaulois the final scene that you like so 
much ? " 

41 By all means," said the manager. " That 
will give him a clearer idea for his article 
announcing the play. Will it not, my 
friend ? " 

" Indeed; yes," the journalist agreed, 
stroking his moustache and looking down 
with respectful admiration at Arlette: 

41 It is a pity that I am somewhat 
exhausted today | yfrpfp^^v^rwazk " said 


Love Wins 

Courleville. " I am afraid I cannot give 
the full value to the scene, but " 

Arlette rose. " Monsieur, if you would 
permit me — I can read it. I know the play 
by heart. It is so beautiful, so beautiful ! 

It would give me the greatest pleasure " 

Her slim hands finished the sentence with an 
imploring gesture. 

Georgina, ushered into the room by the 
valet, stopped amazed, and then gallantly 
seconded her sister. " Indeed, she reads like 
a great comedienne ! " she exclaimed with 

" You flatter my play, mademoiselle," 
said Courleville. " Indeed, you embarrass 
me. Let us hear you read the scene, and if 
you do it as well as Mile. Georgina promises I 
will give you another hundred francs." 

" And I will give you a part in the play," 
said the manager, smiling. 

' And I an article in Le Gaulois," added 
the journalist, joining in the laughter. 

ARLETTE stood trembling while they 
settled themselves in chairs. She was 
white, and the manuscript fluttered in 
her stiff fingers. Courleville struck three 
times on the table with a paper-cutter, and 
she drew a deep breath. 

" You know the title," she said, and pro- 
nounced it in a clear, steady voice : " ' Love 
Wins.' " 

" No, no ! " exclaimed Courleville. " I 
told you not to use that." 

" Too bad ! It's a splendid title for the 
play," the manager protested. 

" Very suggestive," said the journalist. 

11 But I tell you I won't have that title ! " 
cried Courleville. The two men expressed, 
with glances of apology, their respect for the 
dramatist's authority. " Well, mademoi- 
selle, go on." 

" I will read you the cast of characters," 
Arlette resumed. She began firmly to read, 
when Courleville bounded from his chair. 

" What's that ? " he cried. His upraised 
fist still held the paper-cutter, and his face 
was so furious that the two men rose quickly. 

" That," said Arlette, " is the play written 
by Robert d'Ormange, ' Love Wins/ the play 
you tried to steal. I am Mme. d'Ormange, 
my husband is Assistant Professor of Litera- 
ture at the Lycee Concorde t. He brought 
this play to you six weeks ago, and you — 
you thought you had stolen it ! I came here 
to save it, and I have succeeded." 

Courleville, strangling with anger and fear, 
clutched the journalist's arm. " She lies ! " 
he said to the dramatist. " She lies ! " he 
repeated to the journalist. 

" No, gentlemen, I am not lying. If you 
want to see the face of a liar, look at that 

man." The two men looked, and hastily 
looked away. " My husband trusted him 
with his play, his play that cost him two 
years' work to write. See what that man 
wrote him." She searched feverishly in her 
purse and found the letter. The journalist 
held out his hand for it, and he and the 
manager read it together. 

"Monsieur, — 1 have read with pleasure 
'Love Wins.' There are good bits in it, very 
good, bife indeed, but . . ." 

The two men looked at each other, then 
continued to read. Courleville had collapse*! 
in an arm-chair, stammering words to which 
no one listened. The journalist folded th«e 
letter and Courleville reached for it. 

" Pardon, monsieur, that letter belongs to 
Mme. d'Ormange," said the journalist, bow- 
ing respectfully as he. gave it to her. " I 
trust that you will allow me to have it again 
if that should be necessary, madame ? " he 

" Madame," said the manager, quickly, in 
a conciliatory tone, " there must be a way to 
arrange this matter without — ah — without 
publicity. M. Courleville's wide reputation 
as a dramatist — we have produced many of 
his plays — I beg you, madame, to consider 
the consequences, the calamity " 

Arlette turned to Courleville, her anger 
melting in pity before the spectacle of the 
man, dishevelled, his dignity lost, every 
semblance of self-respect wiped from him by 
terror. " Will you, monsieur, give me back ' 
my husband's manuscript ?•" 

Courleville, without replying, unlocked a 
cabinet and handed her the sheaf of pages. 

" Be calm, madame, and believe that 
M. Courleville and I are your friends," the 
manager urged. " I received the play from 
M. Courleville, but it seems to me that it 
would be simple to arrange a contract in your 
husband's name. You are not only a charm- 
ing, but an intelligent woman, madame ; you 
will understand the situation. Will you 
make an appointment for your husband , 
to-morrow at three o'clock in my office ? " 

" Perhaps," said Arlette, " you will be 
good enough to call and make the appoint- 
ment with my husband himself ? " 

" With pleasure, madame," said the man- 
ager, bowing to the bright-eyed, flushed 
young woman who stood erect before him. 
When he lifted his head he saw Arlette sob- 
bing and laughing in Georgina's arms, while 
Georgina, plumes awry, supported her and 
shed tears on her rumpled hair. The man- 
ager exchanged a look with the journalist, 
motioned to Courleville, and the three men 
solemnly retreated to the study. 

■' Women beat everything," said the 
manager, lighting a cigar. 

(Another story by Madame Bernhardt will afrfrear in an early number \ 







^/i Character- Studu o. 


hj frIRaymond 

(Author of * 4 U ncensar ed Celebrities," etc J 

The accompanying photographs, which were presented to the Prince 
during his recent Colonial Tour, were kindly lent by His Royal Highness 
to THE STRAND MAGAZINE for the purpose of illustrating this article. 

IHAITHNEI) to meet the othei nay a 
person of some consequence who was 
with the Prince of Wales in Australia, 
and he talked, in quite human and un~ 
courtly kind, of the impression the Prince 
made wherever he went. 

Now, these " young democracies," as Mr. 
Lloyd George loves to call them, are perhaps 
as hard a test as any of the power of Royal 
fascination. Here in the old country we 
love a lord, and therefore still more the 

super*! ord called a prince. In America lords 
and princes are still more regarded because 
the good Republican feels a thrill of delicious 
wickedness in enjoying his debauch of title- 
worship* The sentiment is akin to the fear- 
ful delight of the schoolboy in breaking 
bounds, and to the sense of satisfaction the 
most moderate drinker feels in breaking the 
law of a Prohibition country. 

But in the British Dominions neither 
instinct (tffffr^jif frflJlftK-Hf ri F*™ is 


Our Prince Charming 

unknown. Australians think of man as 
man, and of a king as only a crowned man. 
Their sense of democratic equality is less 
defined than that of the American. But it 
is a deeper and more imperious instinct. 

Now it happened that the Prince was 
to visit a certain small place in Australia 
where this feeling, never absent in the great 
towns, but there diluted with urban tolerance 
and common sense, reigned with rather ir- 
rational force. It was a " Republican " 
township — not that it had any notion of 
setting up a Republic ; Australian Re- 
publicanism is not a political creed, but a 
moral atmosphere. The people had no 
prejudice against the Prince as an individual. 
But they wanted to show him that as a 
prince he could not expect to turn the heads 
of good Australian democrats. In London 
the guinea's stamp was all-important ; here 
men were men for a' that, and Jack was not 
only as good a man as Lord John, but much 
better. All this was known to the Prince's 
party. Nothing serious, of course, was ex- 
pected, but the probability of some un- 
courtly demonstration on the part of the 
rougher element of a place containing no 
very smooth features had been fully dis- 

When the train drew up to the station it 
was at once apparent that such expectations 
of trouble were justified. The appearance 
of the crowd was distinctly " tough " ; its 
demeanour was decidedly disrespectful. But 
in ten seconds the Prince had conquered ; in 
ten minutes he had subjugated ; in a quarter 
of an hour, to quote my informant, the whole 
township was " feeding out of his hand " ; 
and when his train left there was not a sound 
heart or throat in the place. 

And yet my informant could not remember 
any one definite thing the Prince had done — 
no one thing that stood out in relief against 
the vast dim background of chats, speeches, 
and hand-shakings across a whole continent. 
The whole incident was as simple as a 
miracle and as inexplicable The FVince was 
like Caesar in the passive. He came, was 
seen, and overcame. 

IT is curious how completely one of the 
most important political facts of the time is 
taken as a matter of course. The enormous 
popularity of the Prince of Wales is in sober 
truth such a fact. The other day I heard a 
responsible statesman say, in private, and 
with no motive but the simple assertion of 
what he believed to be the truth, that he 
counted the personality of the Prince as the 
greatest existing asset of the British Empire. 
Certainly it is a not inconsiderable safeguard 
in the present, and a great hope for the 
future. But we accept it much as we accept 
a fine summer day, without thought of the 

dank misery that might have been ; there it 
is, and we assume that so it must be. 

Yet in reality the thing is a psychological 
mystery, if not a psychological miracle. 
History affords no parallel to the moral con- 
quest achieved by this slim, fair, handsome 
young man who, two years ago, was little 
more than a name and a newspaper photo- 
graph for the majority of his father's lieges 
To-day his personality is felt more widely 
than that of Augustus, and as intensely as that 
of Pericles. No earlier Prince of Wales ever 
created such a legend. The legend of Prince 
Hal was created for him, and the other 
Princes of Wales, by their want of colour, 
forbade even the possibility of a legend being 
created. Even the late King Edward only 
achieved in late life his full conquest of t he- 
people ; his earlier years were overshadowed 
by the personality of his mother. 

The phenomenon, however, is not only 
unique. It is also not a little puzzling when 
we consider how arbitrary is the favour of 
the multitude, and also "how the minority 
always tends to resent the judgments of the 
majority. The crowd generally cares not a 
brass button for the heroes of the clubs and 
salons. The clubs and salons usually disparage 
the idols of the crowd. But the Ptince's 
empire is as complete over the crowd as 
over the coteries, and over the coteries 
as over the crowd. 

Whence this power of being, not all thing* 
to all men, but the same potent thing to the 
most widely "differing individuals ? The 
power is without question ; to him who 
doubts, citcumspice is a sufficient reply. The 
charm of the Prince is felt by grave states- 
men, by languid men of fashion, by stuffy 
philosophers and flpffy " flappers," by 
ancient dowagers and young working-men. 

I have heard some talk about " Press 
booms," " toadyism," " British snobbery," 
and so forth, but always from people who 
have, for some reason or other, not yet come 
within the range of the Prince's influence. 
Those who have seen him in the flesh, were 
it only from a window in the Strand, may 
have all kinds of inadequate explanations of 
the fact. They may talk the usual common- 
places about " magnetism," " subtle charm." 
" personality," and so forth, which is only 
an elaborate way of saying : " I don't know 
the reason, but ieel it incumbent on me to 
pretend." But of the fact itself they are 
quite certain. 

Youth is not a sufficient explanation ; 
youth is not always a centre of enthusiasm. 
Let each of us run over the list of his private 
acquaintance and reckon up the number of 
men of twenty-six whose presence yields pure 
delight* Still less is snobbish regard for rank 
the secret. No doubt we are all snobs at 
ihixart ; no dovbt every one of us would like, 

E. T, Raymond 

as Thackeray put it, to be .seen walking down 
Pall Mall with a duke on each arm. 

Still less is " tact ' an explanation ; tact 
is a poor, shallow, superficial thing, meant 
for superficial use, a sort of social ointment 
for thin-skinned 
jieople ; a neces- 
sary ingredient, 
l^erhaps, in the 
character of a 
man or woman 
of the world, but 
nn passport to 
the affection of 
the flimsiest son 
of Adam. Man- 
kind in the mass 
is not flimsy ; it 
is solid and real, 
and only re- 
sponds to solid 
reality. Some- 
thing widely 
different from the 
pinchbeck imita- 
tion of geniality, 
something alto- 
gether more ele- 
mental, is needed 
to reach the nni^ 
versal heart. 

It seems a sure 
instinct which 
has led so many 
people to go to 
the fairy-tale for 
an inspiration, 
and dub the Heir 
to the Throne 
" Prince Charm- 
ing. " The title 
has no doubt 
been bestowed in 
an unmeaning 
way, but there is 
a meaning in it. 
Those who speak 
of "Prince 
Charming " are 
" warm/' Jike the 
player in a nur- 
sery game who 
gets near the 
secret without 
being aware of it. 
The point is 
not the obvious one that the Prince is ;i 
charming young man who happens to be of 
the Blood Royal. It is rather, I think, 
that he is so happily constituted that, while 
nobody forgets that he is a prince, nobodv 
remembers that he is an "august personage." 
This may seem a dark saying. But there 

I he Prince of Wales at Launceston, Tasmania, 

is all the difference between a prince who is 
a prince imtt court and a prince who is also 
an august personage. The one belongs to all 
legend and all literature, and a child shall 
know him ; the other belongs to the Court 

Circular, and a 
West-end trades- 
man shall seek to 
get his arms over 
the shop -front. 
It is the differ- 
ence between an 
old Knight 
Errant and the 
newest K.B.E. 
The prince 
charms us in the 
nursery; we have 
got to know 
about a groat 
many pros ai c 
things — income- 
tax and rate col- 
lectors and the 
American ex- 
change — before 
we realize the 
existence of 
august person- 
ages. The prince 
is cousin german 
to Dick Whit- 
tington and his 
cat ; the august 
personage be- 
longs to the same 
scheme as the 
latest Lord 
Mayor and his 

T-et us see how 
it works out in 
the fairy tale. 
The Prince, wu 
know, goes riding 
alone in t h e 
forest till he 
conies across the 
palace ; he kills 
the wizard, or The 
giant, or the 
dragon, or the 
evil genie, with 
his own good 
sword ; he wakes 
the Sleeping 
Princess with his own hearty ldss, takes her 
hack on liis own horse, and lives his own Jife 
with her happily ever afterwards. 

Now an august personage could do none of 
these things, He could not stir out without 
due equerries (covered with medals), who 
know alJ illhdll'f&rfe^fliib^Kiti'SAt'hing 1 about 


Our Prince Charming 

dragon-hunts. Even if the august personage 
found the Sleeping Beauty, he would hardly 
know what was really the matter with her : 
the. Court Physician would only mystify him 
with a bundle of bulletins to the effect that 
'^the condition of Her Royal Highness re- 
mains unchanged." As for kissing her, such 
a breach of etiquette would be unthinkable. 
And if all the difficulties were surmounted 
somehow, and the Court Physician were at 
last able to announce that the Sleeping 
Beauty had got up, " materially benefited 
by a sound sleep/' and was " taking nourish- 
ment freely " (which is Court-physicianese 
for cold chicken and champagne), even so 
there would be no romance in the wedding. 
The august personage would have to get the 
Prime Minister, or the Foreign Secretary, or 
the Lord Presi- 
dent of the 
Council h or some- 
lit x I y t to arrange 
matters for 

Now the Prince 
is a prince in the 
essential fairy- 
tale sense. He 
is r of course, not 
at all likely to 
go off in quest 
of sleeping beau- 
ties in enchanted 
palaces. He is 
a very modern 
person, and is 
perfectly aware 
that there are no 
sleeping beauties now ; the modern beauty 
is quite painfully wide-awake. But he has 
the fairy-tale prince's way of being human , 
and so humanity feels itself flattered in him. 
We all have deep in us the notion of a golden 
age ; we like to think what man might be if 
he never had to do any mean things to keep 
the pot boiling. That is the secret of the 
popularity of the fairy-tale prince ; it is, 
much more than snobbery, the secret of our 
Jove of a lord. Since we cannot all live in the 
golden age, we enjoy the enjoyment of it by 
a few, and watch them much as we do the 
actors in a play, without the smallest envy 
of the splendid time they seem to be having. 

EY \ \<V great personage is popular in 
some degree who takes his greatness in 
a spirit, not of condescension, but of 
fellowship, regarding it as something belong- 
ing, not merely to himself, but to everybody. 
The Prince seems by instinct to have this 
conception of his position. He wears his 
rank as a garment, and not as a shell. It 
is his, and not he its. He does not go about, 
so to speak, in a diving- bell, taking his own 

The Prince giving her son's decoration lo a bereaved 
mother at Sydney > N.S.W. 

atmosphere with him, but is not only ready, 
but eager, to get on human terms wjtl 

It would, of course, be affectation t - 
suggest that everything the Prince does i^- .1 
pleasure to liim. He would not, were it not 
hi* business, travel thousands of mileu> i;: 
Colonial railway trains, stopping at every 
township large enough to nourish a civic 
dignity, in order to listen and reply to M loyal 
and dutiful " addresses. He has no absorb- 
ing interest — what healthy young man could 
have ? — in oldest inhabitants, remarkaLI .- 
citizens, phenomenal babies, provincial 
mayors, local town halls, statistics, aldermen, 
and workmen's dwellings. But he is gifted 
with a marvellous appetite for life in general, 
which prevents him being bored to extremit} 

by the duller 
phases of it ; he 
possesses a lively 
sense of humour, 
which gets him 
cheerful I y 
through many 
appalling inflic- 
tions ; ami he lias 
a quite genuine 
delight i n t h e 
simple act ot 
giving pleasure 

His attitude t * 
t he crowd is q u i t e 
unaffectedly t hi.-: 
" How very rip- 
ping of you to be 
so glad to see me ." 
By his mere smile 
this feeling, and even the carelessly sincere 
slanginess of its expression, is communicated 
to the people with a swift certainty that the 
most luminous eloquence could not convev. 
There is, 1 am told, a kind of furnace in which 
heat " reverberates M from one cell to another, 
so that the total is far greater than the sum 
of all the individual cells would be. Some- 
thing of that kind operates in raising the 
moral temperature wherever the Prince goes. 
He makes people glad*to see him ; they make 
him glad to see them ; his stimulated glad- 
ness re -stimulates theirs ; and so the action 
and reaction goes on until a white heat of 
enthusiasm reigns on the one side, and on 
the other what would be a dull duty has 
become a vivid and real pleasure* 

King Edward's method was quite different. 
He was consciously diplomatic. His way of 
winning a Radical stalwart like the late Mr. 
Muiidella might really be called tactful ; it 
was, at any rate, deliberately thought out. 
It succeeded by giving the person noticed an 
intense consciousness of the honour done 
him. The Fr: icf of Wales would not work 

^iftpfeitf Wraferifesr set him of coK - 

E. T. Raymond 


dilating, say, a violent Sinn Feiner or an un- 
compromising Bolshevist, he might, perhaps, 
lie awake half the night thinking of a formula. 
But the formula would not be used when the 
time came. The diplomatic approach would 
be forgotten ; instead, there would be some- 
thing like " How jolly decent of you to come;*' 
and the two would be 
talking at once in the 
In 1 man est way. 

The difference is ex- 
plained, not so much by 
temperament — for the 
Prince strikingly recalls 
his grandfather in many 
ways — as by training. 
King Edward was brought 
up ,+ carefully "ina sense 
now obsolete. There was 
a barrage of moral anti- 
septic between him and 
other youth. Even his 
course of reading was 
prescribed for him by 
heavy tutors. He was 
surrounded by a free^ing 
etiquette. It was only 
after middle age that he 
was allowed to smoke 
when in his mother's 
houses. In such condi- 
tions it was natural that, 
with all his geniality, 
there was ever a sense 
of a boundary which 
affected people's thoughts 
as well as their conduct, 
He was an exceedingly 
good-natured King, but 
very much the King, 

The Prince, in one 
sense, has been no less 
carefully brought up. 
But his education, while 
retaining all the solid 
Victorian virtues, omitted 
the Victorian extrava- 
gances, He has mixed 
freely with the world. 
At Oxford he was an 
undergraduate like other 
There is a story of a reverential American 
who penetrated to Magdalen to ga^e on 
the "abode of Royalty/' and could not 
understand the " Pragger Wagger, third 
staircase on the right " of the first man he 
addressed. He was better contented when 
the wicked young man, scenting an innocent, 
pointed out a great building as the " Royal 
residence/' and volunteered the information 
that the deer on the other side of the bridge 
had been " specially imported from the 
Pyrenees " for His Royal Highness to hunt. 
Our cousins will never quite understand us. 

Vol, 1*1—2. 



undergraduates. Prince's bearing 

The great lesson of Oxford, how to get on 
with men, was t of course, improved by those 
years in France during which, in the Prince's 
own words, he "found his manhood/ 1 
Everybody knows how he pestered Lord 
Kitchener to let him go out, in any capacity, 
and how Lord Kitchener, asked not to con- 
sider his life of more 
value than anybody else's, 
replied, " I am not worry- 
ing in the least about 
whether you will be 
killed ; the trouble is 
that you might be taken 

When at last he went 
p it was to stay. Stories 
came back from the front 
of the pleasant, boyish 
figure in khaki, recog- 
nized here and there- 
stories that told of a full 
measure of cool pluck, 
good fellowship, and good- 
nature, with just the 
proper tincture of " the' 
devil/ 1 Then he was 
heard of further afield ; 
the nation had a glimpse 
of him as an unofficial 
Ambassador in 1 1 a 1 y, 
there conquering all 
hearts. But it was not 
until after the Armistice 
that the Prince became 
a clearly-defined national 

His first public appear- 
ance was a revelation. 
The nation's memory was 
of a shy, fair-haired lad, 
very uncomfortable in the 
gaze of Ins father's sub- 
jects. Its consciousness 
was now of a figure still 
boyish, but with an easy 
dignity and cool self- 
possession, and withal a 
shrewd understanding of 
men and tilings. The 
was modest, but in no 
sense timorous — the bearing of a man who 
knows himself, and therefore is not likely to 
be much out with regard to others. The 
stripling of 1 91 4 had indeed *' found his 
manhood/ 1 

To be a man — to be, that is, certain of the 
one or two matters that really count, to have 
a " middling tight grip of the handful of 
things that one knows " — is the surest way to 
get on terms with other men, of whatever 
condition. The Prince was found to be un- 
appalled at twenty-five by all sorts of things 
that people of fifty, wlio have not yet learned 


replying to an address of 
during the Australian tour. 


Our Prince Charming 

quite to be men, find appalling. He was un- 
afraid of the imminent deadly speech. He 
could face a bevy of young nurses without a 
tremor. He could exchange laughing sallies 
with a crowd of working men, without losing 
his dignity or offending theirs — and the work- 
ing man has a vivid sense of his own dignity. 
To be a man in the full sense means being 
at home with all that is human, and in that 
sense the Prince is in the fullest degree 

His success in all public functions was the 
more remarkable because he is by no means 
destitute of " nerves." At first his calm con- 
cealed a good deal of genuine stage fright, and 
he has not yet reached the point of facing an 
audience without a shade of self-conscious- 
ness. His busy fingers, fiddling with his 
sword hilt, his tie, his top-hat, the lapel of 
his coat, or what not, tell their own tale. He 
still feels the strain of the formal ceremony, 
and is at his happiest w 7 hen it is all over, and 
Edward Albert Christian George Andrew 
Patrick David, Prince of Wales, Duke of 
Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Chester, 
Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of 
the Isles, and Great Steward of Scotland 
can get into the loosest " civvies " and 
become the plain " David " he is to all his 

But it is only when iris interest in human 
things is not engaged that this diffidence 
really troubles him. The moment thp time 
comes for any kind of dction he becomes him- 
self again. He is intensely modern in his 
love of crowds, machinery, things that live or 
move. The zest of doing is in his veins, 
when he walks it is at a rattling pace ; when 
ne motors he likes to get all there is out of a 
car ; he dances the most strenuous modern 
dances in the most strenuous modern style ; 
and his sport is the hard, exacting, concen- 
trated sport of the modern — squash rackets 
is a typical favourite — rather than the 
leisurely expansive field sport of the old 
aristocrat; • 

rIE PRINCE lias, too, all the modern 
interest in " shop." " Shop " was the 
last word in vulgarity in the days 
when the social ideal was to do nothing 
gracefully. Judged by the standards of a 
hundred years ago, the Prince would be 
hopelessly lacking in princeliness ; to-day 
lus vivid concern in all men do is a link of 
measureless value between him and the 

Knowing his own job fairly well already. 

intent to know it as well as it can be known, 
he is full of sympathy and interest regarding 
other men's jobs. He will watch machinery 
with a fixed intentness sometimes embarrass- 
ing to the managers of his time-table. He 
is intensely interested in the fairy-tales #>f 
science and the wonders of industry. H«r 
wants to know the reason of all that is haj>- 
pening around him, and when he disapproves 
of the way things are being done he does not 
•hesitate to point out the fault. Usually h** 
does so with calm decision, but there art- 
occasions on which the quick temper in- 
herited from his grandfather shows itself, t#> 
the perturbation of officials who have faileti 
to grasp the meaning of the new princelines> _ 

For, modest as the Prince is — and his 
anxious inquiries of the experienced whether 
he did the right thing in the right way on this 
occasion or that sufficiently testify to his 
want of foolish self -sufficiency — he has plenty 
of character. It is at bottom the character of 
his House, which has never lacked decision. 
But that character has been profoundly 
modified by a wise education and early con- 
tact with the wholesomest outside influences. 
The good side — the strong sense of duty, the 
fidelity to engagements, the almost religious 
conception of responsibility — remains ; of 
the side not so good, which for a century at 
least kept alive the sense of something want- 
ing in the New Monarchy which was present, 
with all its faults, in the Old, no trace is 

The Prince's great-grandmother, grand- 
father, and father have all helped in their 
various ways to break down that barrier 
between Crown and people which was erected 
when Dutch troops first mounted guard in 
Whitehall. It is his splendid business to 
bring back to England the vivid sense of a 
leadership (none the less real because it is 
spiritual) that is independent of Ministers 
and ballot-boxes — a leadership'that shall not 
conflict with, but supplement, the ordinary 
machinery of government. 

For that splendid business no prince could 
be better fitted, and the wisest heads of the 
country watch his progress with a feeling 
that he is steadily advancing that truest form 
of Coalition which shall bind the Monarch 
and the People — the two powers which have 
no interest that is not a national interest, the 
two powers which in the nature of things can 
be no respecters of persons, the two powers 
which cannot be flunkeyish, or snobbish, or 
self-seeking — in a tie of sacramental strength 
and sanctitv. 

imi.:ii from 



Strange. Experi ences 

or an 

/Irtisfs Model 




SAY, laddie ! " 

Archie spoke plaintively, Sheer 
amiability had led him to oblige 
his friend, James B. Wheeler, the 
well-known artist, by posing for the central 
figure in a cover which the latter was paint- 
ing for one of the magazines \ and already 
he was looking back ruefully to the time 
when he had supposed that an artist's model 
had a soft job. In the first five minutes 
muscles which he had not been aware that 
he possessed had started to ache like neg- 
lected teeth. His respect for the toughness 
and durability of artists' models was now 
solid. How they acquired the stamina to 
go through this sort of thing all day and then 
bound off to Bohemian revels at night was 
more than he could understand. 

*' Don't wobble, confound you ! " snorted 
Mr. Wheeler. 

" Yes, but, my dear old artist," said 
Archie, " what you don't seem to grasp — - 
what you appear not to realize — is that I'm 
getting a crick in the back/' 

" You weakling ! You miserable inverte- 
brate worm ! Move an inch, and I'll murder 
you, and come and dance on your grave 
every Wednesday and Saturday. Fm just 
getting it." 

u Its in the spine that it seems to catch 
me principally,*' 

"Be a man, you faint-hearted string- 
bean ! " urged J, B. Wheeler. " You ought 
to be ashamed of yourself . Why, a girl who 
was posing for hie last week stood for a solid 
hour on one leg, holding a tennis racket over 
her head and smiling brightly withal." 

Copyright, 1921, by 

" The female of the species is more india- 
rubbery than the male," argued Archie; 

" Well, I'll be through in a few minutes. 
Don't weaken* Think how T proud yon 11 he 
when you see yourself on all the bookstalls," 

Archie sighed, and braced himself to the 
task once more. He wished he had never 
taken on this binge, In addition to his 
physical discomfort, he was feeling a most 
awful chump. As it was mid -winter, the 
cover on which Mr. Wheeler was engaged 
was for the August number of the magazine, 
and it had been necessary for Archie to 
drape his reluctant form in a two-piece 
bathing suit of a vivid lemon colour ; for he 
was supposed to be representing one of those 
jolly dogs belonging to the best families who 
dive off floats at exclusive seashore resorts. 
J + B. Wheeler, a stickler for accuracy, had 
wanted him to remove his socks and shoes ; 
but t^ere Archie had stood firm. He was 
willing to make an ass of himself, but not a 
silly ass. 

" All right/' said J. B. Wheeler, laying 
down his brush, " That will do for to-day. 
Though, speaking without prejudice and with 
no w r ish to be offensive, if I had had a model 
who wasn't a weak-kneed, jelly-backboned 
son of Belial t I could have got the darned 
thing finished without having to have another 

" I w T onder why you chappies call this sort 
of thing ' sitting/ " said Archie, pensively, 
as he conducted tentative experiments in 
osteopathy on his aching back. " T say, old 
thing, I could do with a restorative, if you 
have one handy. But of course you haven't. 

p. a to 



Strange Experiences of an Artist's Model 

I suppose," he added, resignedly. Abste- 
mious as a rule, there were moments when 
Archie found the Eighteenth Amendment 
somewhat trying. 

J. B. Wheeler shook his head. 

" You're a little previous," he said. " But 
come round in another day or so, and I may 
be able to do something for you." He moved 
with a certain conspirator-like caution to a 
corner of the room, and, lifting to one side & 
pile of canvases, revealed a stout barrel, 
which he regarded with a fatherly and benig- 
nant eye. " I don't mind telling you that, 
in the fullness of time, I believe this is going 
£a spread a good deal of sweetness and light." 

" Oh, ah," said Archie, interested. "Home- 
brew, what ? " 

" Made with these hands. I added a few 
more raisins yesterday, to speed things up a 
bit. There is much virtue in your raisin. 
And, talking of speeding things up, for good- 
ness' sake try to be a bit more punctual to- 
morrow. We lost an hour of good daylight 

" I like that ! I was here on the absolute 
minute. I had to hang about on the landing 
waiting for you." 

"Well, well, that doesn't matter," said 
J. B. Wheeler, impatiently, for the artist 
soul is always annoyed by petty details. 
" The point is that we were an hour late in 
getting to work. Mind you're here to- 
morrow at eleven sharp." 

IT was, therefore, with a feeling of guilt 
and trepidation that Archie mounted the 
stairs on the following morning ; for in spite 
of his good resolutions he was half an hour 
behind time. He was relieved to find that 
his friend had also lagged by the wayside. 
The door of the studio was ajar, and he went 
in, to discover the place occupied by a lady 
of mature years; who was scrubbing the floor 
with a mop. He went into the bedroom and 
donned his bathing suit. When he emerged, 
ten minutes later, the charwoman had gone, 
but J. B. Wheeler was still absent. Rather 
glad of the respite, he sat down to kill time 
by reading the morning paper, whose sport- 
ing page alone he had managed to master at 
the breakfast table. 

There was not a great deal in the paper to 
interest him. The usual bond-robbery had 
taken place on the previous day, and the 
police were reported hot on the trail of the 
Master-Mind who was alleged to be at the 
back of these financial operations. A mes- 
senger named Henry Babcock had been 
arrested and was expected to become confi- 
dential. To one who, like Archie, had never 
owned a bond, the story made little appeal. 
He turned with more interest to a cheery 
half-column on the activities of a gentleman 
in Minnesota who, with w r hat seemed to 

Archie — who had been the victim of much 
persecution from his wife's father — a good 
deal of resource and public spirit, had re- 
cently beaned his father-in-law with the 
family meat-axe. It w r as only after he had 
read this through twice in a spirit of gentle 
approval that it occurred to him that J. B. 
Wheeler was uncommonly late at the tryst. 
He looked at his watch, and found that he 
had been in the studio three-quarters of an 

Archie became restless. Long-suffering 
old bean though he was, he considered this 
a bit thick. He got up and went out on to 
the landing, to see if there were any signs of 
the blighter. There were none. He began 
to understand now what had happened. 
For some reason or other the bally artist 
was not coming to the studio at all that day. 
Probably he had called up the hotel and left 
a message to this effect, and Archie had just 
missed it. Another man might have waited 
to make certain that his message had reached 
its destination, but not woollen-headed 
Wheeler, the most casual individual in New 
York. Thoroughly aggrieved, Archie turned 
back to the studio to dress and go away. 

His progress was staj'ed by a solid, for- 
bidding slab of oak. Somehow or other, 
since he had left the room, the door had 
managed to get itself shut. 

" Oh, dash it ! " said Archie. 

The mildness of the expletive was proof 
that the full horror of the situation had not 
immediately come home to him. His mind 
in the first few moments was occupied with 
the problem of how the door had got that 
way. He could not remember shutting it. 
Probably he had done it unconsciously. As 
a child, he had been taught by sedulous 
elders that the little gentleman always 
closed doors behind him, and presumably 
his subconscious self was still under the influ- 
ence. And then, suddenly, he realized that 
this infernal, officious ass of a subconscious 
self had deposited him right in the gumbo. 
Behind that closed door, unattainable as 
youthful ambition, lay his gent's heather- 
mixture with the green twill, and here he 
was, out in the world, alone, in a lemon- 
coloured bathing suit. 

In all crises of human affairs there are two 
broad courses open to a man. He can stay 
where he is or he can go elsewhere. Archie, 
leaning on the banisters, examined these 
alternatives narrowly. If he stayed where 
he was he would have to spend the night on 
this dashed landing. If he legged it, in this 
kit, he would be gathered up by the constabu- 
lary before he had gone a hundred yards. 
He was no pessimist, but he was reluctantly 
forced to the conclusion that he was up 
against it. 

It was while he was musing with a certain 


P. G. Wodehouse 


This couldn't be J, B. 

creature comforts 

It was not. It was a tall, thin man whom 
he had never seen before. He appeared to 
be in a considerable hurry. He let himself 
into the studio on the floor in? low, and 
vanished without even waiting to shut the 

He had come and disappeared in almost 
record time, but, brief though his passing 

'What you don't seem to grasp is thai I'm getting a crick in the back/ 

* You weakling ! Move an inch, and Til murder you ! ' lf 

tenseness on these things that the sound of 
footsteps came to hfm from below. But 
almost in the first instant the hope that this 
might be J. B. Wheeler, the curse of the 
human race, died away. Whoever was 
coming up the stairs was running, and J, B + 
Wheeler never ran upstairs. He was not 
one of your lean, haggard, spiritual -looking 
geniuses. He made a large income with his 
brush and pencil, and spent most of it in 

had been, it had been long enough to bring 
consolation to Archie. A sudden bright 
light had been vouchsafed to Archie, and he 
now saw an admirably ripe and fruity scheme 
for ending his troubles. What could be 
simpler than to toddle down one flight of 
stairs and in an easy and debonair manner 
ask the chappie's permission to use his tele- 
phone ? And what could be simpler, once 
he was at the 'plicne, than to get in touch 



Strange Experiences of an Artist's Model 

with somebody at the Cosmopolis who would 
send down a few trousers and what not in a 
kit-bag ? It was a priceless solution, thought 
Archie, as he made his way downstairs. Not 
even embarrassing, he meant to say. This 
chappie, living in a place like this, wouldn't 
bat an eyelid at the spectacle of a fellow 
trickling about the place in a bathing suit. 
They would have a good laugh about the 
whole thing. 

" I say, I hate to bother you — dare say 
you're busy and all that sort of thing — but 
would you mind if I popped in for half a 
second and used your 'phone ? " 

That was the speech, the extremely gentle- 
manly and well-phrased speech, which Archie 
had prepared to deliver the moment the man 
appeared. The reason he did not deliver 
it was that the man did not appear. He 
knocked, but nothing stirred. 

" I say ! " 

Archie now perceived that the door was 
ajar, and that on an envelope attached with 
a tack to one of the panels was the name 
" Elmer M. Moon." He pushed the door a 
little farther open and tried .again. 

" Oh, Mr. Moon ! Mr. Moon ! " He waited 
a moment. " Oh, Mr. Moon ! Mr. Moon ! 
Are you there, Mr. Moon ? " 

He blushed hotly. To his sensitive ear 
the words had sounded exactly like the open- 
ing line of the refrain of a Tin Pan Alley 
song-hit. He decided to waste no further 
speech on a man with such an unfortunate 
surname until he could see him face to face 
and get a chance of lowering his voice a bit. 
Absolutely absurd to stand outside a chappie's 
door singing song-hits in a lemon-coloured 
bathing suit. He pushed the door open and 
walked in ; and his subconscious self, always 
the gentleman, closed it gently behind him. 

" Up ! " said a low, sinister, harsh, un- 
friendly, and unpleasant voice. 

" Eh ? " said Archie, revolving sharply on 
his axis. 

He found himself confronting the hurried 
gentleman who had run upstairs. This 
sprinter had produced an automatic pistol, 
and was pointing it in a truculent manner at 
his head. Archie stared at his host, and his 
host stared at him. 

" Put your hands up," he said. 

" Oh. right-o ! Absolutely ! " said Archie. 
" But I mean to say " 

The other was drinking him in with con- 
siderable astonishment. Archie's costume 
seemed to have made a powerful impression 
upon him. 

" Who the devil are vou ? " he inquired. 

" Me ? Oh, my name's " 

" Never mind your name. What are you 
doing here ? " 

" Well, as a matter of fact, I popped in to 
; f I might use your 'phone. You see " 

A certain relief seemed to temper the 
austerity of the other's gaze. As a visitor, 
Archie, though surprising, seemed to be better 
than he had expected. 

" I don't know what to do with you," he 
said, meditatively. 

'' If you'd just let me toddle to the 
'phone " 

" Likely ! " said the man. He appeared 
to reach a decision. " Here, go into that 

He indicated with a jerk of his head the 
open door of what was apparently a bedroom 
at the farther end. 

" I take it," said Archie, chattily, " that 
all this may seem to you not a little mmmv." 

" Get on ! " 

" I was only saying " 

" Well, I haven't time to listen. Get a 
move on ! " 

THE bedroom was in a state of untidiness 
which eclipsed anything which Archie had 
ever witnessed. The blighter appeared 
to be moving house. Bed, furniture, and 
floor were covered with articles of clothing. 
A' silk shirt wreathed itself about Archie's 
ankles as he stood gaping, and, as he moved 
farther into the room, his path was paved 
with ties and collars. 

" Sit down ! " said Elmer M. Moon, 

" Right-o ! Thanks." said Archie. " I 
suppose you wouldn't like me to explain, and 
what not, what ? " 

" No 1 " said Mr. Moon. " I haven't got 
your spare time. Put your hands behind 
that chair." 

Archie did so, and found them imme- 
diately secured by what felt like a silk tie. 
His assiduous host then proceeded to fasten 
his ankles in a like manner. This done, he 
seemed to feel that he had done all that was 
required of him, and he returned to the pack- 
ing of a large suit-case which stood by the 

" I say I " said Archie. 

Mr. Moon, with the air of a man who has 
remembered something which he had over- 
looked, shoved a sock in his guest's mouth 
and resumed his packing. He was what 
might be called an impressionist packer. 
His aim appeared to be speed rather than 
neatness. He bundled his belongings in, 
closed the bag with some difficulty, and, 
stepping to the window, opened it. Then 
he climbed out on to the fire-escape, dragged 
the suit-case after him, and was gone. 

Archie, left alone, addressed himself to the 
task of freeing his prisoned limbs. The job 
proved much easier than he had expected. 
Mr. Moon, that hustler, had wrought for the 
moment, not for all time. A practical mar, 
he had beeia couteiat to keep his visitor 


P. G. Wodehouse 


shackled merely for such a period 
as would permit him to make his 
escape unhindered. In less than tea 
minutes Archie, after a good deal of 
snake-like writhing, was pleased lo 
discover that the thingummy at- 
tached to his wrists had loosened 
sufficiently to enable him to use 
his hands. He untied himself and 
got up. 

He now began to tell himself 
that out of evil Cometh good. His 
encounter with the elusive Mr. Moon 
had not been an agreeable one, but 
it had had this solid advantage, that 
it had left him right in the middle 
of a great many clothes. And Mr, 
Moon> whatever his moral defects, 
had the one excellent quality of 
taking about the same size as him- 
self. Archie, cast- 
ing a covetous eye 
upon a tweed suit 
which lay on the 
bed, was on the 
point of climbing 
ink> the trousers 
when on the outer 
door of the studio 
there sounded a 
forceful knocking 

" Open up here ! " 

Archie bounded 
silently out 
into the other 
room and 
stood listen- 
ing tensely. 
He was not 
a., naturally 
queru lous 
man, but he 
did feel at 
this point 
that fate was 
picking on 
him with a 
somewhat un- 
due severitw 

"In t h ' 
name av th" 
Law ! T " 

There are 
times when 
the best of 
us lose our 
heads. At 
this juncture 
Archie should 
have gone to 
the door, opened it, explained his presence 
in a few well-chosen words, and generally 
have passed the whole thing off with ready 

"Mr, Moon 

shoved a sock in his guest's mouth and 
resumed his packing/* 

tact. But the thought of confronting 
a posse of police in his present cos- 
tume caused him to look earnestly 
about him for a hiding-place. 

Up against the farther wall was a 
settee with a high, arching back, which 
might have been put there for that 
special purpose* He inserted himself 
behind this, just as a splintering crash 
announced that the Law, having gone 
through the formality of knocking 
with its knuckles, was now getting 
busy with an axe. A moment later 
the door had given way, and the room 
was full of trampling feet. Archie 
wedged himself against the wall with 
the quiet concentration of a clam 
nestling in its shell, and hoped for 
the best. 

It seemed to him that his imme- 
diate future depended for better 
or for worse 
entirely o 11 
the native in- 
telligence of 
the Force. It 
they were the 
bright, alert 
men he hoped 
they were, 
they would 
see all that 
junk in the 
bedroom and, 
d e ducing 
from it that 
their quarry 
had stood not 
upon the 
order of his 
going but 
had hopped 
it, would not 
waste time in 
searching a 
empty apart- 
ment. If, on 
the other 
hand, they 
were the 
obtuse, flat- 
footed per- 
sons who 
occasiona 1 1 y 
find their way 
into the ranks 
of even the 
most enlight- 
ened consta- 
bularies, they 


would undoubtedly shift the settee and drag 
him into a publicity from which his modest 
soul shrank. He was enchanted, therefore, 


24 Strange Experiences of an Artist's Model 

a few moments later, to hear a gruff voice 
state that th' mutt had beaten it down th' 
fire-escape. His opinion of the detective 
abilities of the New York police force rose 
with a bound. 

There followed a brief council of war, 
which, as it took place in the bedroom, was 
inaudible to Archie except as a distant 
growling noise. He could distinguish no 
words, but, as it was succeeded by a general 
trampling of large boots in the direction of 
the door and then by silence, he gathered 
that the pack, having drawn the studio and 
found it empty, had decided to return to 
other and more profitable duties. He gave 
them a reasonable interval for removing 
themselves, and then poked his head cau- 
tiously over the settee. 

All was peace. The place was empty. 
No sound disturbed the stillness. 

Archie emerged. For the first time in this 
morning of disturbing occurrences he began 
to feel that God was in his heaven and all 
right with the world. At last things were 
beginning to brighten up a bit, and life 
might be said to have taken on some of the 
aspects of a good egg. He stretched him- 
self, for it is cramping work lying under 
settees, and, proceeding to the bedroom, 
picked up the tweed trousers again. 

Clothes had a fascination for Archie. 
Another man, in similar circumstances, 
might have hurried over his toilet ; but 
Archie, faced by a difficult choice of ties, 
rather strung the thing out. He selected a 
specimen which did great credit to the taste 
of Mr. Moon, evidently one of our snappiest 
dressers, found that it did not harmonize 
with the deeper meaning of the tweed suit, 
removed it, chose another, and was adjust- 
ing the bow and admiring the effect, when 
his attention was diverted by a slight sound 
which was half a cough and half a sniff; 
and, turning, Sound himself gazing into the 
clear blue eyes of a large man in uniform, 
who had stepped into the room from the 
fire-escape. He was swinging a substantial 
club in a negligent sort of way, and he looked 
at Archie with a total absence of bonhomie. 

" Ah ! " he observed. 

" Oh, there you are ! " said Archie, sub- 
siding weakly against the chest of drawers. 
He gulped. " Of course, I can see you're 
thinking all this pretty tolerably weird and 
all that," he proceeded, in a propitiatory 

The policeman attempted no analysis of 
his emotions. He opened a mouth which a 
moment before had looked incapable of 
being opened except with the assistance of 
powerful machinery, and shouted a single 
word : — 

" Cassidy ! " 

A distant voice gave tongue in answer. 

I .OOglfe 

It was like alligators roaring to their mates 
across lonely swamps. There was a rumble 
of footsteps in the region of the stairs, 
and presently there entered an even larger 
guardian of the Law than the first exhibit. 
He, too, swung a massive club, and, like 
his colleague, he gazed frostily at Archie. 

" God save Ireland ! " he remarked. 

The words appeared to be more in the 
nature of an expletive than a practical com- 
ment on the situation. Having uttered 
them, he draped himself in the doorway like 
a colossus, and chewed gum. 

14 Where ja get him ? " he inquired, after 
a pause. 

" Found him in here attimpting to dis- 
guise himself." 

" I told Cap. he was hiding somewheres, 
but he would have it that he'd beat it down 
th' escape," said the gum-chewer, with the 
sombre triumph of the underling whose 
sound advice has been overruled by those 
above him. He shifted his wholesome (or, 
as some say, unwholesome) morsel to the 
other side of his mouth, and for the first time 
addressed Archie directly. " Ye 're pinched f " 
he observed. 

A RCHIE started violently. The Weak 
/^^ directness of the speech roused him 
with a jerk from the dream-like state 
into which he had fallen. He had not antici- 
pated this. He had assumed that there would 
be tedious explanations to be gone through 
before he was at liberty to depart to the cosy 
little lunch for which his interior had been 
sighing wistfully this long time past ; but 
that he should be arrested had been oatside 
his calculations. Of course, he could put 
everything right eventually : he could call 
witnesses to his character and the purity of 
his intentions ; but in the meantime the 
whole dashed business would be in all the 
papers, embellished with all those unpleasant 
flippancies to which your newspaper reporter 
is so prone to stoop when he sees haK a 
chance. He would feel a frightful chump. 
Chappies would rot him about it to the most 
fearful extent. Old Brewster's name would 
come into it, and he could not disguise it 
from himself that his father-in-law, who liked 
his name in the papers as little as possible, 
would be sorer than a sunburned neck. 

" No, I sav, vou know ! I mean, I mean 
to say ! " 

" Pinched ! " repeated the rather larger 

" And annything ye say," added his 
slightly smaller colleague, " will be used 
agenst ya 't the trial." 

" And if ya try t 'escape," said the fir*t 
speaker, twiddling his club, " ya'll getja 
block knocked off." 

And, having: sketched, out this admirably 


P. G. Wodehouse 


clear and neatly-constructed scenario, the 
two relapsed into silence. Officer Cassidy 
restored his gum to circulation. Officer 
Donahue frowned sternly at his boots. 

" But, I say," said Archie, "it's all a mis- 
take, you know. Absolutely a frightful 
error, my dear old constables. I'm not the 
lad you're after at all. The chappie you 
want is a different sort of fellow altogether. 
Another blighter entirely." 

New York policemen never laugh when on 
duty. There is probably something in the 
regulations against it. But Officer Donahue 
permitted the left corner of his mouth to 
twitch slightly, and a momentary muscular 
spasm disturbed the calm of Officer Cassidy's 
granite features, as a passing breeze ruffles 
the surface of some bottomless lake. 

11 That's what they all say ! " observed 
Officer Donahue. 

" It's no use tryin'.that line of talk," said 
Officer Cassidy. " Babcock's squealed." 

" Sure. Squealed *s morning," said Officer 

Archie's memory stirred vaguely. 

" Babcock ? " he said. " Do you know, 
that name seems familiar to me somehow. 
I'm almost sure I've read it in the paper or 

" Ah, cut it out ! " said Officer Cassidy, 
disgustedly. The two constables exchanged 
a glance of austere disapproval. This 
hypocrisy pained them. " Read it in th' 
paper or something ! " 

44 By Jove ! I remember now. He's the 
chappie who was arrested in that bond busi- 
ness. For goodness* sake, my dear, merry old 
constables," said Archie, astounded, " you 
surely aren't labouring under the impression 
that I'm the Master-Mind they were talking 
about in the paper ? Why, what an abso- 
lutely priceless notion ! I mean to say, I 
ask you, what ! Frankly, laddies, do I look 
like a Master-Mind ? " 

Officer Cassidy heaved a deep sigh, which 
rumbled up from his interior like the first 
muttering of a cyclone. 

"If I'd known," he said, regretfully, 

'* that this guy was going to turn out a ruddy 

Englishman, I'd have taken a slap at him 

1 with m' stick and chanced it ! " 

- Officer Donahue considered the point well 


** Ah ! " he said, understandingly. He re- 
garded Archie with an unfriendly eye. " I 
know th' sort well ! Trampling on th' face 
av th' poor ! " 

" Ya.c'n trample on the poor man's face," 
said Officer Cassidy, severely ; " but don't 
be surprised if one day he bites vou in the 

" But, my dear old sir," protested Archie, 
*' I've never trampled " 

" One of these days," said Officer Donahue, 

moodily, " the Shannon will flow in blood to 
the sea ! " 

" Absolutely ! But " 

Officer Cassidy uttered a glad cry. 

" Why couldn't we hit him a lick/' he 
suggested, brightly, " an' tell th' Cap. he 
resisted us in th' exercise of our jooty ? " 

An instant gleam of approval and enthu- 
siasm came into Officer Donahue's eyes. 
Officer Donahue was not a man who got 
these luminous inspirations himself, but that 
did not prevent him appreciating them in 
others and bestowing commendation in the 
right quarter. There was nothing petty or 
grudging about Officer Donahue. 

" Ye're the lad with the head, Tim ! " he 
exclaimed, admiringly. 

" It just sorta came to me," said Mr. 
Cassidy, modestly. 

" It's a great idea, Timmy ! " 

" Just happened to think of it," said Mr. 
Cassidy, with a coy gesture of self-effacement. 

ARCHIE had listened to the dialogue 
with growing uneasiness. Not for the 
first time since he had made their 
acquaintance, he became vividly aware of 
the exceptional physical gifts of these two 
men. The New York police force demands 
from 'those who would join its ranks an 
extremely high standard of stature and 
sinew, but it was obvious that jolly old 
Donahue and Cassidy must have passed in 
fiFst shot without any difficulty whatever. 

" I say, you know," he observed, appre- 

And then a sharp and commanding voice 
spoke from the outer room. 

" Donahue ! Cassidy ! What the devil 
does this mean ? " 

Archie had a momentary impression that 
an angel had fluttered down to his rescue. 
If this was the case, the angel had assumed 
an effective disguise — that of a police cap- 
tain. The new arrival was a far smaller 
man than his subordinates — so much smaller 
that it did Archie good to look at him. For 
a long time he had been wishing that it were 
possible to rest his eyes* with the spectacle of 
something of a slightly -less out-size nature 
than his two companions. 

44 Why have you left your posts ? " 

The effect of the interruption on the Messrs. 
Cassidy and Donahue was pleasingly instan- 
taneous. They seemed to shrink to almost 
normal proportions, and their manner took 
on an attractive deference. 

Officer Donahue saluted. 

" If ye plaze, sorr «-" 

Officer Cassidy also saluted, simultaneously. 

" 'Twas like this, sorr- " 

The captain froze Officer Cassidy with a 
glance and ; leaving him congealed, turned to 
Officer Donahue. 


26 Strange Experiences of an Artist's Model 

" Oi wuz standing on th' fire-escape, sorr," 
said Officer Donahue, in a tone of obsequious 
respect which not only delighted but 
astounded Archie, who hadn't known he 
could talk like that, " accordin' to instruc- 
tions, when I heard a suspicious noise. I 
crope in, sorr, and found this duck — found 
the accused, sorr — in frotit of th' mirror, 
examinin' himself. I then called to Officer 
Cassidy for assistance. We pinched — ar- 
rested um, sorr." 

The captain looked at Archie. It seemed 
to Archie that he looked at him coldly and 
with contempt. 

" Who is he ? " 

" The Master-Mind, sorr/' 

" The what ? " 

" The accused, sorr. The man that's 

" You may want him. I don't," said the 
captain. Archie, though relieved, thought 
he might have put it more nicely. " This 
isn't Moon. It's not a bit like him." 

" Absolutely not ! " agreed Archie, cor- 
dially. " It's all a mistake, old companion, 
as I was trying to " 

"Cut it out!" 

"Oh, right-o!" 

" You've seen the photographs at the 
station. Do you mean to tell me you see 
any resemblance ? " 

" If ye plaze, sorr," said Officer Cassidy, 
coming to Ufe. 

" Well ? " 

" We thought he'd bin disguising himself, 
the way he wouldn't be recognized." 

" You're a fool ! " said the captain. 

" Yes, sorr," said Officer Cassidy, meekly. 

" So are you, Donahue." 

" Yes, sorr." 

Archie's respect for this chappie was going 
up all the time. He seemed to be able to 
take years off the lives of these massive 
blighters with a word. It was like the 
stories you read about lion-tamers. Archie 
did not despair of seeing Officer Donahue 
and his old college chum Cassidy eventually 
jumping through hoops. 

" Who are you ? " demanded the captain, 
turning to Archie. 

" Well, my name is " m - 

" What are you doing here ? " 

" Well, it's rather a longish story, you 
know. Don't want to bore you, and all that. " 

"I'm here to listen. You can't bore me." . 

" Dashed nice of you to put it like that," 
said Archie, gratefully. " I mean to say, • 
makes it easier and so forth. What I mean 
is, you know how rotten you feel telling the 
deuce of a long yarn and wondering if the 
party of the second part is wishing you would 
turn off the tap and go home. I mean : " 

" If," said the captain, " you're reciting 
something, stop. If you're trying to tell me 

by Google 

what you're doing here, make it shorter and 

Archie saw Ids point. Of course, time was 
money — the modern spirit of hustle — all that 
sort of thing. 

" Well, it was this bathing suit, you know," 
he said. 

" What bathing suit ? " 

" Mine, don't you know. A lemon- 
coloured contrivance. Rather bright and so 
forth, but in its proper place not altogether 
a bad egg. Well, the whole thing started, 
you know, with my standing on a bally 
pedestal sort of, arrangement in a diving 
attitude — for the cover, you know. I don't 
know if you have ever done anything of that 
kind yourself, but it gives you a most fearful 
crick in the spine. However, that's rather 
beside the point, I suppose — don't know why 
I mentioned it. Well, this morning he was 
dashed late, so I went out— — " . 

" What the devil are you talking about ? *Z 

Archie looked at him, surprised. 

" Aren't I making it clear ? " 

" No." 

" Well, you understand about the bathihg 
suit, don't you ? The jolly old bathing suit, 
you've grasped that, what ? " 


" Oh, I say," said Archie. " That's rather 
a nuisance. I mean to say, the bathing atjit's 
what you might call the good old. pivot of 
the whole dashed affair,, you .see. WelF, you 
understand about the cover, what ? You're 
pretty clear on the subject of the cover ? " 

"What cover? " : / 

" Why, for the magazine." - 

"-What magazine.?-" * ' 

" Now there you rather: haS^^tiie. One of 
these bright little periodicals^ 'you know, 
that you see popping to and fro on the 

" I don't know what you're talking about," 
said the captain. He looked at Archie with 
an expression of distrust and hostility. V And 
I'll tell you straight out I don't like the looks 
of you. I believe you're a pal of his." 

"No longer," said Archie, firmly. "I 
mean to say, a chappie who makes you stand 
on a bally pedestal sort of arrangement and 
get a crick in the spine, and then doesn't turn 
up and leaves you biffing all over the country- 
side in a bathing suit " 

THE reintroduction of the bathing suit, 
motive seemed to have the worst effect 
on the captain. He flushed darkly. 
" Are you trying to josh me ? I've a mind 
to soak, you ! " - . - 

" If ye plaze, sorr," cried Officer Donahue 
and Officer Cassidy in chorus. In the course 
of their professional career they did not often 
hear their superior make many suggestions 
with which they saw eye to eye, but he had 


P. G. Wodehouse 


4< Why couldn't we hit him a lick an* tell th* Cap, he resisted us in the exercise of 

out jooty ? N 

Original from 

by Google 


28 Strange Experiences of an Artist's Model 

certainly, in their opinion, spoken a mouthful 

" No, honestly, my dear old thing, nothing 
was farther from my thoughts M 

He would have spoken further, but at this 
moment the world came to an end. At least, 
that was how it sounded. 
Some where in the imme- 
diate neighbourhood some- j 
thing went off with a vast 
explosion, shattering the 
glass in the window, peel- 
ing the plaster from the 


ceiling, and 
sending him 
staggering into 
the inhos- 
pitable arms of 
Officer Dona- 

The three 
guardians o f 
the Law stared 
at one another. 

" If ye p!aze f 
sorr/' said 
Officer Cassidy, 

H Well ? " 

"May I spake, 
sorr ? " 

" Well ? M 

sorr I " 

The information, kindly meant though it 
was, seemed to annoy the captain. 

"What the devil did you think I thought 
had happened ? * J he demanded, with not a 
little irritation. "It was a bomb I M 

Archie could have corrected this diagnosis, 
for already a faint but appealing aroma of an 
alcoholic nature was creeping into the room 
through a hole in the ceiling, and there had 
risen before his eyes the picture of J. R, 
Wheeler affectionately regarding that barrel 
of his on the previous morning in the studio 

u Something went off with a vast explosion* sending 

him staggering into the inhospitable arms of Officer 


upstairs, J, B + Wheeler had wanted quick 

results, and he had got them. Archie had 

long since ceased to regard J , B. Wheeler as 

anything but a tumour on the social system, 

but he was bound to admit that he had 

certainly done him a good turn now. Alread y 

these honest men, diverted 

by the superior attraction 

of this latest happening, 

appeared to have forgotten 

liia existence. 

" Sorr ! M said Officer 

" Well ? ' 
"It came 
from upstairs, 
sorr/ 1 

" Of course 
it came from 
upstairs. Cas- 
sidy ! " 
" Sorr ? " 
Get - down 
into the street, 
call up the 
reserves, a n d 
stand at the 
front entrance 
to keep the 
crowd back. 
We'll have, the 
whole city here 
in five min- 


w Don't Jet 
anyone in." 
4t No, sorr + " 
"Well, see 
that you don't. 
Come along, 
Donahue, now. 
Look slippy." 

"On the spot, 
sorr I " said 

A moment later Arclue had the room to 
himself. Two minutes later he was picking 
his way cautiously down the fire-escape after 
the manner of the recent Mr, Moon. Archie 
had not seen much of Mr. Moon, but he had 
seen enough to know that in certain crises 
his methods were sound and should be fol- 
lowed. Elmer Moon was not a good man ; 
his ethics were poor and his moral code 
shaky ; but in the matter of legging it away 
from a situation of peril and discomfort he 
had no superior. 

(The ctyncluding story in this series will appear next month.) 

iiized by Google 

Original from 






Muslr>aied by $ ABBEY- 

THE meeting between Mr, Cray and 
Mr. Edward P. Wallin, of Seattle, 
was a touching and wonderful 
thing. It took place on the pave- 
ment of the Strand, about fifty yards from 
the entrance to the Milan, the occasion being 
a gentle stroll on the part of Mr. Cray 
towards one of the reopened hotels in North- 
umberland Avenue, which was reputed to 
possess a wizard in the art of cocktail mix- 
ing. They recognized one another about 
ten yards off, and their greetings were 
vociferous and idiomatic. 

" If it isn't Ed ! " Mr. Cray exclaimed, in 
great excitement. " Welcome to the gay 
little burg ! ** 

" Joe, old sport, if this isn't bully ! " was 
the prompt and hearty response. " Put 
it there, my son of the Stars and Stripes. 
Why, I thought you were handing doughnuts 
to the boys out in Cologne." 

" Demobbed two months ago," was the 
cheerful reply. M I had twelve months of it 

" Gee ! but you're a wonder ! I guess the 
Milan's the nearest." 

Arm-in-arm, the two men swung along the 
pavement, Mr. Wallin a somewhat smaller 
and plumper edition of his old friend. Their 
faces exuded good -humour and goodwill. 
Both were filled with the joy of meeting a 
friend and fellow-countryman in a strange 

• Ed," Mr. Cray observed, " they've hit 
it up for us on the other side." 

Copyright, 1921, by E. 

" It's a sure Hades ! " the other groaned. 
" You have to have a pain in your stomach 
and drop in at the drug store to get a drop of 
rye or Scotch, and even then you feel like 
hiding behind the show-case. And I tell 
you, Joe, to sec the boys lapping up soft 
drinks and getting gloomier all the time is 
just one over the limit. No one's got used 
to it yet. We go about kinder dazed." 

Mr. Cray glanced at his watch as they 
reached the Milan bar. He led the way to 
two easy chairs and beckoned to a waiter. 

" Two Scotches-and-soda,Tim," he ordered, 
" and in a quarter of an hour see that Coley 
hits us up two dry Martinis with some stick 
in. Afteoyards we'll have a bite of luncheon 
in the Grill Room." 

The programme was approved and carried 
out. About half-way through the meal Mr. 
Cray asked a momentous question. 

" Say, what's brought you over, Ed ? " 

Mr. Wallin laid down his knife and fork 
and groaned. His eyes were fixed with an 
indescribable expression upon the figure of a 
woman a short distance away. 

" That," he replied. " Her ! " 

Mr. Cray turned in his chair. A smartly- 
attired young woman, who had paused upon 
the threshold looking around the room as 
though in search of someone, was now 
approaching their table. 

" Why, Mr. Wallin," she exclaimed, as 
she shook hands, " I had no idea that you 
were staying here ! " 

" I'm not," he replied. " I'm just having 

Phm tojfeBftrr OF MICHIGAN 


Mr. Cray's Adventures 

a bite with a friend. I'd like you to know 
Mr. Joseph P. Cray — Miss Nora Medlicott." 

Mr. Cray rose at once to his feet and shook 
hands with Miss Medlicott. She was very 
good-looking, her expression was pleasing, 
and her manner friendly. 

" I'm glad to know you, Mr. Cray," she 
said. " Are you, by any chance, related to 
Mrs. Georgina Cray, the Vice-President of 
the Women's Kill-the-Drink League ? " 

" My wife/' Mr. Cray faltered. 

Miss Medlicott shook hands with him again. 

" I am proud to know you, sir," she de- 
clared. " Your wife has done a great work 
ill Oregon." 

" Sure ! " Mr. Cray murmured, his tone 
singularly lacking in conviction. " I've been 
kind of out of things for the last twelve 

" Mr. Cray has been over in France, doing 
Y.M.C.A. work," his friend explained. 

" Exactly what I should have expected 
from Mrs. Cray's husband," the young lady 
declared, approvingly. 

" You'll sit down and have some lunch 
with us, Miss Medlicott ? " Mr. Wallin begged. 

The young lady appeared to hesitate. She 
glanced once more around the room. 
. " I promised to lunch with some of the 
crowd," she said, " but " 

Her eyes suddenly fell upon the bottle of 
Scotch whisky which Mr. Wallin had vainly 
tried to conceal behind a newspaper. Her 
manner stiffened. 

" We'll send this right away/*' the offender 
promised, eagerly. "I'm not accustomed to 
it in the middle of the day, but Mr. Cray here 
has a touch of rheumatism." 

. " Touch of what ? " Mr. Cray asked, 
blankly, and received a kick on the shins for 
his bbtuseness. 

Miss Medlicott smiled gravely at him. 

" You mustn't think I'm over-prejudiced, 
Mr. Cray," she said, "but I am a great 
believer in total abstinence. I have many 
friends, however, who do not share my views, 
amongst them Mr. Wallin here. I do not, 
hoiyever, sit down at a table, if I can help it, 
where alcoholic liquors are being consumed." 

" We'll soon make that all right if you'll 
join us,". Mr. Cray promised, pushing the 
bottle heroically away. 

" In any case," Miss Medlicott replied, 
smiling, " there are my friends. Good-bye, 
Mr. Cray. You will come and call, won't 
you, Mr. Wallin ? " 

" Sure ! " that gentleman assented, eagerly. 
•' I'll be round to-morrow afternoon." 

THE young lady departed. Mr. Cray 
looked after her regretfully. 

" Say, that's a pity, Ed ! " he said. 
" A real stunner, if ever I spoke to one, and a 
bee in her bonnet like that ! " 


Mr. Wallin groaned. 

" And I love her, Joe," he confided. " I've 
asked her to marry me six times, and 
I've come over here because I couldn't 
bear to think of her in London and these 
foreign places and me back in Seattle. 
Sometimes I think I'll have to take the 

Mr. Cray coughed. He found advice 

" It's a serious step, Ed. Men at our time 
of life ought to be careful how we trifle with 
our constitutions." 

Mr. Wallin helped himself to whisky. 

" You're right, Joe," he agreed ; " but I 
do sure love that girl." 

" How do you stand with her ? " his friend 

" All right, I guess, except for this craze 
of hers," was the doleful reply. " I can't 
see that it's her fault. Her father and 
mother are crazy about it. She's been 
brought up in the atmosphere." '\ . '' 

" She seems a nice girl, too," Mr. Cray 
sighed. :_-, 

" If she'd only leave off trying to convert 
me I " Mr. Wallin murmured. 

Mr. Cray finished his whisky-and *5oda 
and displayed an interest in .the waiiet s 
suggestion as to liqueurs. The majtter 
having been satisfactorily dealt wrgv t e 
proceeded to the reconsideration, of* -jiis 
friend's dilemma. 

" Ed," he said, " have you ever tried, to 
convert the young lady ? " 

" Will you tell me how to start about it i ? " 
Mr. Wallin asked, drearily. " JThfj poor girl 
doesn't know the taste of ^lie-or lUjiior. 
Nothing of the sort has ever pcen allowed in 
the house since she was, born.' I'd as sqOn 
think of offering her a cocktail as of handing 
her poisoned chocolates, and I guess she'd 
feel the same about it.". 

" What sort of a crowd is she with over 
here ? " Mr. Cray inquired. 

" Why, there's her father and mother, a 
reverend gentleman, two elderly men, and 
Hiram Croft, the Senator. I guess he's in 
the same boat that I am." 

" A rival, eh ? " Mr. Cray observed. - 

His friend assented dolefully. 

" And looks like landing the goods. There 
they all are, over at the round table." 

Mr. Cray studied them thoughtfully 

" Lot of deadheads, ' ' he declared . ' * Why, 
Miss Medlicott is the only live figure there. 
She don't belong, Ed." 

" It's a cruel hobby, that water-drinking," 
Mr. Wallin remarked. ". Seems to link them 
together, though." 

" You mean to tell me that sandy-haired, 
melancholy-looking dyspeptic is your rival ? " 
his host went on. " Gee ! Ed, you ought to 
put it over cm him ! r * 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 


Her eyes suddenly fell upon the bottle of Scotch whisky which Mr. Waltin had vainly 
tried to conceal behind a newspaper. Her manner stiffened." 

by LiGOgle 



Mr. Gray's Adventures 

" He's the big noise when he's on the plat- 

" Sure, but the girl isn't going to live with 
him on a platform ! What are they all 
doing over here, Ed ? " 

" Some fool's stunt," Mr. Wallin replied. 
" They're collecting recipes of temperance 
drinks. The idea is, when they find one 
that goes, to form a company to manufacture 
it. Something that's cool and thirst-quench- 
ing in summer, and warm and vitalizing in 
winter — see the ads. that Hiram Croft is 
always drawing up." 

" A new soft drink, eh ? " Mr. Cray said, 

" That's the idea. They'reTgoing round 
the English manufacturers, and if they can't 
find anything they 're going on the Continent." 

" A new soft drink, eh ? " Mr. Cray re- 
peated. " There's money in that, Ed." 

" Sure," Mr. Wallin assented, " or Hiram 
Croft wouldn't be in it. He's some water- 
drinker, and he cuts out the hard stuff all 
right, but his nose follows the dollars all tha 
time. Pa and Ma Medlicott know that, 
too. My little pile isn't much by the side 
of his." 

" Ed " his friend said, firmly, " if you let 
a wliimple-faced, anaemic-looking weed like 
that rob you of a fine girl like Miss Medlicott, 
I've sure done with you." 

" Do you think I want him to have her ? " 
Mr. WaUin asked, almost indignantly. " Do 
you think I've followed her over here for 
nothing ? Say, you always were a slick sort 
of chap, Joe. Do you think you could help 
me ? " 

Mr. Cray stretched a pudgy but muscular 
hand across the table. 

" I do think so and I will, Ed," he de- 
clared. " Put it there." 

9 I 'HE Hiram Croft-cum-Medlicott party 

Y occupied a large round table in a 

corner of the restaurant. Mr. Wallin 

and his companion paused before it on their 

way out. 

" I want you all to know my friend, Mr. 
Joseph P. Cray," the former said, with his 
hand on Hiram Croft's shoulder. " Mr. Cray 
has just returned from a year with the 
Young Men's Christian Association out at the 

Mr. Hiram Croft shook hands. The intro- 
duction was made general. 

" Any relation, may I ask ? " Mrs. 

Medlicott began, adjusting her pince-nez. 

" My friend Mr. Cray,". Mr. Wallin inter- 
rupted, proudly, " is the husband of Mrs. 
Cray, the Vice-President of the Kill-the- 
Drink League." 

Mr. Hiram Croft shook hands with him 

" This is a privilege, Mr. Cray," 1 


Everyone seemed pleased and happy. A 
chair was brought for Mr. Cray, who looked 
round at the table with its four goblets of 
iced water with an inward shiver. There 
was a good deal of general conversation, 
which Mr. Cray dexterously brought up to a 
certain point. 

" Mr. Croft," he satfd, " I am one of those 
men who before the war had Seen accus- 
tomed to use liquor in moderation." 

Mr. Cray, in the eyes of everybody, became 
a very black sheep indeed. Everybody's 
manner stiffened perceptibly. It was hard 
to connect an even moderate use of strong 
drink with the husband of such an inspired 
dry prophetess as Mrs. Cray. 

" When I took up my post for the 
Y.M.C.A.," Mr. Cray continued, " I cut it 
right out. During my year in France not a 
drop of liquor of any sort passed my lips. 
Being naturally of a somewhat thirsty dis- 
position, I developed a strong interest in 
temperance drinks." 

" Sure ! " Mr. Hiram Croft murmured, with 
returning tolerance. 

" The subject of temperance drinks," Mr. 
Medlicott announced, " is one which is at the 
present time engaging a large share of our 

"So I understood from my friend Mr. 
Wallin here," Mr. Cray said. " I gathered 
that you were over here looking out for a 
thoroughly satisfactory recipe for a non- 
alcoholic beverage." 

" Do you know of one, Mr. Cray ? " Miss 
Medlicott asked, with a smile. 

" Madam," the gentleman addressed re- 
plied, solemnly, '• I do." 

" Say, this is very interesting," the Senator 
remarked. " Can we be introduced to it, 
sir ? " • 

Mr. Cray drew his chair a little closer up 
to the table. 

" Mrs. Medlicott and gentlemen," he said, 
" it is, in a sense, a most extraordinary thing 
that I should have come into touch with you. 
I claim to have discovered the most won- 
derful, refreshing, thirst-quenching, and ex- 
hilarating beverage the world has ever known. 
I hold the recipe of it, and I value that recipe 
at a good many million dollars." 

" Large figures," Mr. Croft murmured. 

" If the beverage," Mr. Cray proceeded, 
solemnly, " stood on the market according 
to my directions and sold at even a moderate 
profit, its sales throughout the world would 
be colossal. But," he went on, " all this is 
talk. I am prepared to prove my words. I 
ask you, Mrs. Medlicott and gentlemen, have 
you yet discovered a satisfactory non-alco- 
holic beverage ? " 

" We have not," Mrs. Medlicott admitted. 

" We were inclined to favour a certain 
brand of dry gitigor ate," Mr. Croft observed, 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 


" but we- have come to the decision that its 
after-effects are deleterious." 

" A sense of inflation," one of the old 
gentlemen murmured, 

" A tendency towards pains in the lower 
regions," Mr. Medlicott admitted, frankly. 

" In short," Mr. Cray summed up, " you 
have not yet found what you are looking 
for. Now, I have brought my recipe back 
Irom France, and, although I have not yet 
sold a single bottle, been near the adver- 
tisers, or mentioned it to a soul, I have a 
plant near London, and I shall be starting out 
shortly to manufacture on a very small scale. 
I invite you, ladies and gentlemen, to dine 
with me in the restaurant of this hotel at 
eight o'clock next Wednesday night, when 
my daughter, Lady Sittingbourne, will be 
proud to be your hostess. You shall then 
test my beverage, and if you find it what you 
are looking for, there shall be no question of 
dollars between us. I will give you the 

Mr. Hiram Croft shook hands with Mr. 
Cray for the third time. 

" Sir," he said, " if you are not led away 
by the enthusiasm of the discoverer, you are 
one of the world's benefactors." 

" You have spoken, sir," Mrs. Medlicott 
declared, " as the husband of Mrs. Cray 
should speak." 

"In short," Mr. Medlicott declared, " we 
accept your invitation." 

MR. CRAY received his guests on the 
appointed day in the sitting-room of 
his suite. He presented them to his 
daughter, and as soon as they were all 
assembled he stood by his little sideboard 
and addressed them. 

" Mrs. and Miss Medlicott and gentlemen," 
he said, " I can assure you that I feel it a very 
great honour to entertain you all to-night, 
but I do not want you to lose sight for a 
moment of the fact that in a sense this is an 
educational, and I trust you will find it a 
deeply interesting, gathering. I am going 
to disprove everything that has ever been 
written about alcohol." 

" Hear, hear ! " Mr. Hiram CroTt murmured. 

" Now," Mr. Cray continued, smiling, 
" you are all doubtless aware of a long- 
established habit amongst our country- 
people of taking a cocktail before dinner. 
However one looks upon it, the habit itself 
is, without doubt, a pernicious one." 

" Deplorable ! " Mrs. Medlicott murmured. 

" Unhygienic," one of the old gentlemen 

Mr. Cray signified his unqualified assent. 

"Still," he continued, "one function of 
this cocktail is on the surface a pleasant one. 
A little party of friends such as the present 
one meets, a little tired with the day's toil, 

Vol lxi.-3. 

shy, perhaps, from an imperfect acquaintance 
with one another, depressed with business 
worries, physically, perhaps, and mentally 
weary. Alcohol, in the shape of a cocktail, 
has its functions upon such an occasion. We 
have heard the hearty laugh, we have seen 
the lightning change, the smile of relief, a 
spirit, perhaps, of good-fellowship, incited by 
this evil means. Now, my friends, I propose 
to show you how something of the same sort 
can be incited without recourse to this bane 
of our days, alcohol." 

Mr. Cray lifted a napkin from the top of a 
dozen or so of glasses which stood upon 
a silver salver upon the sideboard. The 
glasses were filled with a pale amber liquid, 
on the top of which was floating a small piece 
of lemon. Very proudly indeed Mr. Cray 
handed a glass to each of the little company. 
They all accepted it with a smile of pleased 

" Now this," Mr. Cray announced, " is 
the subject of my first recipe. It is, I claim, 
pleasant to the taste, stimulating, refreshing, 
and entirely harmless. It is quite inexpen- 
sive to produce, and if you share my enthu- 
siasm for the beverage of which you will 
presently partake, the recipe for this slight 
appetizer shall also be yours. Mrs. Medli- 
cott — Miss Medlicott — gentlemen ! " 

They all tasted critically, tasted again, 
and set down their glasses empty. Then they 
all looked at one another. Mr. Wallin was 
the only unenthusiastic person. 

" I'm afraid I'm all for a dry Martini, 
Joseph," he admitted ; " although I must 
admit that this is a pleasant little appetizer 
so far as soft drinks go." 

" Your taste, sir," Mr. Hiram Croft said, 
severely, " is vitiated. The beverage of 
which we have just partaken, Mr. Cray," he 
added, looking hard at the sideboard to see 
if there was any more, " represents, I con- 
sider, a remarkable discovery. I find it ex- 
ceedingly pleasant and, if I may say so, 
stimulating, without the noxious after-taste 
of alcohol." 

" I think it is perfectly delicious," Miss 
Medlicott pronounced. 

" Most soothing," Mrs. Medlicott agreed. 

" Mr. Wallin 's criticism," Mr. Medlicott 
said, regarding him steadily, " only proves how 
a taste for the really good and pure beverages 
of life may be destroyed by reckless indul- 
gence in alcohol. I consider this beverage 
which you have offered us, Mr. Cray, a most 
marvellous discovery. I offer you my con- 
gratulations. I am impatient to become 
acquainted with your other and main dis- 

" I am most gratified," Mr. Cray declared, 
beaming. " If you will follow me, then, we 
will now get ujcng to the restaurant " 

Tlnu little part;/ niacin thef.r wa ? 


Mr. Cray's Adventures 

corridor to the lift and thence to the restau- 
rant. There was not the slightest doubt 
that the truth of Mr. Cray's contentions was 
already becoming evident. The two old 
gentlemen, who brought up the rear arm-in- 
arm, looked a great* deal less like college pro- 
fessors, and surveyed the gay scene in the 
foyer with critical and appreciative eyes. 
Mr, Hiram Croft talked the whole of the way. 
He was even genial to his rival, Mr. Wallin. 

" It is my belief, sir/' he said, " that your 
very interesting friend, Mr. Cray, has made a 

forward to my dinner. If this ■ sensation 
lasts I shall hail Mr. Cray as one of the bene- 
factors of his generation, and I shall make it 
my business, too, as a Senator and a man of 
some note, Mr, Wallin, in our great countrv, 

" ' It wa» a pleasing custom in my younger days/ Mr. Croft said, 4 to sing songs at the conclusion 

marvellous discovery. I have suffered from 
dyspepsia all my life. Meals have been a 
trouble to me instead of a pleasure, I have 
seldom anticipated the partaking of food 
except with dread, To-night I have quite 
a new feeling. I am hungry. I am looking 

to sec that your friend's discovery brings him 
the fame to which he is entitled/' 

Mr, Wallin listened with respect to his 
compan ion's .eulogy. Mrs. Medlicott, who 
walked at-JTWwWPfeht hand, talked to 
him faDM fttERLiHi^'DBFi**! 0H*lftrf* gracious™**. 

E. Phillips Oppenheim 


She did not once raise her pin, e-nez to gaze 
with disapproval at the somewhat exotic 
evening dresses of the other guests in the 
foyer. Her mouth had lost its severe curve, 
and she, too, seemed full of pleasurable 
anticipation- Miss Medlicott, who walked 
on the other side of their host, was inclined 
to be a little thoughtful. She, too, however, 
was in the best of spirits, and a little cry of 
admiration escaped her lips when, escorted 
by many bo^-ing waiters, they were ushered 
to a private room opening out of the main 
restaurant, in the centre of which was a large 
table beautifully decorated with great clusters 

of a feast of this deacription-^ college songs, generally/ * 

of red roses, and with a little American flag 
rising from a fancy edifice in the middle* 
There was a general murmur of interest 
when, as they sat down, gold-foiled bottles, 
one to every two persons, were discovered 
around the table. 

11 So this is the .Treat discovery ? " Mrs, 
Medlicott said, si .ng, " The bottle pre- 
sents a most attractive appearance/' 

" I am glad that it meets with your ap- 
proval," Mr, Cray replied. " I have in- 
structed the waiter not to open any of it 
until after the soup, as the contents are 
slightly aerated. 1 ' 

Mr + Hiram Croft looked a little dis- 
appointed, He ate his oysters and swallowed 
his soup with almost tumultuous eagerness. 
A little murmur of deep interest escaped from 
everyone when, with the serving of the fi^h, 
a dark-visaged potentate dexterously opened 

one or two of 
the bottleb and 
glasses w ere 

4i Ladies and 
gen tlemen," 
Mr. Cray said, 
" this may be 
an epoch- 
making dinner 
in the history 
o f American 
temperance, If 
you approve of 
this beverage, 
as I trust you 
will do r there 
may soon come 
a time when it 
will become a 
familiar fea- 
ture upon the 
sideboard and 
dinner-table of 
every self-respecting American 
citizen. My best wishes to all 
of you 

Glasses were clinked all round 
the table. Mr, Cray drank with 
Mrs. Medlicott and Miss Medli- 
cott, Mr. WaJlin drank with 
Mr. Medlicott, the two old gen- 
tlemen drank with one another, 
Mr. Hiram Croft drank with 
everybody. When he set down 
his glass it was empty. His 
words reflected the expression 
of pleasure on everyone's face. 

M Mr. Cray/* he pronounced, 
" there tan be no manner of 
doubt about the qualities of 
this remarkable beverage,, 1 
hail you, sir, as one of the 
greatest discoverers of the age, 
one of the greatest friends American tem- 
perance has ever had + " 

" Let us drink," Mrs, Medlicott purred, 
" to Mrs. Cray, What would she not give to 
be with us to-night 1 JP 

" IfH r-ff^l "Rrtft ^|@H4i]Sfa#ator assented. 


Mr. Cray's Adventures 

waving his refilled glass, " Vice-President of 
the Kill-the-Drink League. Also to her 
worthy husband, Mr. Joseph P. Cray/' he 
added, bowing to his host. 

The toast was duly honoured, and the 
conversation continued on cheerful and 
optimistic lines. After his first glass Mr. 
Cray turned to Mrs. Medlicott. 

" Madam," he said, " I trust that it will 
not offend your susceptibilities in any way 
if Mr. Wallin and I, who you know are not 
abstainers, take a glass of champagne ? " 

Mrs. Medlicott shook her head at him, but 
her expression, as well as her tone, was kind 
and genial. 

" Why, you must please yourself, Mr. 
Cray," she replied. " I am thankful to say 
that I am not a prejudiced woman." 

Mr. Cray bowed, and the waiter filled his 
glass and Mr. Wallin 's with champagne of a 
well-known vintage. Mrs. Medlicott sighed. 

" Everyone to his taste," she said, " but it 
does astonish me, Mr. Cray, that when you 
have a harmless and non-alcoholic beverage 
of such marvellous properties as the one 
which we are now drinking, you should prefer 
to drink wine and face the after -conse- 

" Wine doesn't disagree with me, madam," 
Mr. Cray declared, mildly. 

Mrs. Medlicott squeezed his arm in friendly 

" Joseph Cray," she said, " I take an in- 
terest in you because I know your wife." 

Mr. Cray sighed. 

" 1 suppose Amelia has to be in it," he 

Mrs. Medlicott shook her head playfully. 

" Why, Mr. Cray," she exclaimed, " you 
are getting me all confused. Now listen to 
me, there's a dear man. Statistics " 

MR. HIRAM CROFT'S sonorous utter- 
ance suddenly descended upon them 
like a mill-stream, sweeping away the 
froth of lighter conversation. One hand 
fondly embraced the stem of his wineglass, 
with the other he beat time upon the table. 
" Statistics," he interrupted, " have proved 
to the conviction of every thinking man the 
evil and the horror of indulgence in alcoholic 
beverages of any sort. Mr. Joseph P. Cray 
here has swept away the last excuse of the 
wine-drinker. He has provided us with a 
beverage generous in its qualities, exhila- 
rating in its after-effects, delicious to the 
palate. This beverage," he continued, look- 
ing earnestly at the bubbles in his glass, " has 
none of the thin acidity of most temperance 
drinks. It hash none ofsh — I beg your 
pardon," he said, holding his hand before his 
mouth and correcting himself with prenatural 
gravity. " It has none of the thin limpidity 
of the aerated waters in ge-general use. If I 

were to search through my vocabulary for a 
single adjective, or rather epithet, to apply 
to this wonderful refreshment, I should call 
it — inspired." 

" Bravo ! " exclaimed the two old gentle- 
men from the other end of the table. 

" How eloquent you are, Mr. Croft ! " Miss 
Medlicott murmured. 

Mr. Croft dived for her hand under the 
table, and very nearly lost his balance. The 
young lady drew a little farther away. 

" What I should like to know," Mr. Medli- 
cott demanded, " is what can alcohol give us 
that we do not find in this simple beverage ? " 

" What indeed ? " Mr. Cray murmured, 
under his breath. 

The Senator straightened his tie, which he 
was surprised to find had gone round to the 
back of his neck. 

" Mr. Cray," he declared, " is the world's 
greatest benefactor. He has dug a grave for 
alcohol, he has signed the doom of har<] 
drinks. You agree with me, gentlemen ? '' 
he asked, leaning over and addressing the 
two gentlemen with strained politeness. 

" Sure ! " they exclaimed, with one breath. 

" I am glad to hear that," Mr. Groft said, 
severely. " For a moment I fancied that 
you were not in sympathy with our enthu- 

" That's where you were dead wrong, then, 
Croft," one of them teplied. 

Mr. Croft looked round the table. 

" If anyone has anything to say 

this beverage " he continued, with the 

air of one spoiling for a fight. 

" I thought it a little insipid," Mr. Wallin 
commented. " I was glad to get a glass of 
champagne afterwards." 

" Inshipid ? " Mr. Croft repeated, severely. 
" Mr. Wallin, you surprise me." 

" Not nearly so much as you're surprising 
me," that gentleman replied. " I haven't 
seen you look so well or talk so well for ages."' 

Mr. Croft smiled. He looked steadily at 
Miss Medlicott 's hand, as though meditating 
another dive. She promptly withdrew it 
and moved her chair a little nearer to Mr. 

" It was a pleasing custom in my younger 
days," Mr. Croft said presently, as the 
wonderful repast drew to a finish, " to — er — 
shing shongs — I beg your pardon — to sing 
songs at the conclusion of a feast of this 
description — college songs generally. Can 
anyone oblige ? " 

Everyone seemed willing to oblige at once. 
Mr. Cray struck the table with his fist, how- 
ever, and demanded silence for Mrs. Medli- 
cott, and Mrs. Medlicott, interrupted with 
little bursts of laughter which necessitated 
her stopping sometimes to wipe the tears 
from her eyes, warbled a strange ditty in 
which the moonlight, a coloured gentleman 



of amorous r opcnsi ties, and a chicken 
seemed inextricably mixed. Mr. Cray roared 
a buccaneering ditty, and Mr. Croft, in a 
reedy falsetto, essayed a well-known darky 
melody. Presently Mrs. and Miss Medlicott 
retired into the little withdrawing-room 
opening out from the suite, Mr. Croft, sup- 
porting himself by the back of the chair, 
throwing amorous kisses at the latter's 
retreating figure. His eyes returned to the 
sideboard, and rested there with marked 

" Two more bottles/' he declared. " We'll 
give thish beverage a thorough tesht, Mr. 

Mr. Cray signed to the waiter. Then he 
rose to his feet. Miss Medlicott was standing 
on the threshold of the withdrawing-room, 
beckoning imperatively to him. 

" If you will excuse me for one moment, 
gentlemen," he begged. 

" For one moment, but never a life-time," 
warbled Mr. Croft. " Come back shoon, 
old dear." 

Mr.- Cray approached Miss Medlicott with 
some apprehension. She drew him inside 
the little room. Mrs. Medlicott was lying on 
the couch with her eyes closed, and snoring 

" Dear host " Miss Medlicott began. 

Mr. Cray saw that the young lady's eyes 
were dancing with humour, and he felt 

" Will you give me the recipe of your 
temperance beverage, please ? " she said. 

" I will if you promise to marry Mr. 
Wallin," he replied. 

She laughed softly. 

" He hasn't asked me lately," she said. 

"If he asks you to-night ? " Mr. Cray 

She looked back into the room. The two 
old gentlemen were sitting arm-in-arm, telling 
one another stories. Mr. Medlicott, with a 
cigar in the corner of his mouth and a 
beatific expression upon his face, was leaning 
forward in his chair, listening to Mr. Hiram 
Croft telling a story in a confidential and 
suggestive undertone. Mr. Wallin, pink and 
white and wholesome, was looking a little 

" I agree," she whispered. 

Mr. Cray drew a paper from his pocket. 

" You take four bottles of old champagne, 
one pint of brandy " he began. 

" No more," she interrupted. " Take 
mv advice and tear it up. Fetch Mr. 

" Ed," Mr. Cray called out softly, " will 
you step this way ? " 

Next month : " The Reckoning With Otto Schreed." 



" It was a famous victory,** 

So Southey says, and we agree. ' 

1. His patronymic : by another name 

Thn actor won his knighthood and his fame.' 

2. Shorten a Grecian hero, and yon find 
An Irish island still is left behind 

3. Out of itself *tis simple agony, 
But in itself a charming melody. 

4. It is the common burden of us all. 

And plundered Peter pays to plundered Paul. 

5. To beat a tailless pet what town would boast T 
For answer search along the Scottish coast. 

6. Alas, my brother 1 how the ox is pained 
To see that in a teacup he's contained. 

7. Bombs were his weapon*, and he strove to free 
Prom foreign yoke his native Italy. 

8. Thus spake the cannibal, prepared to dine 
Off your compatriot, oh solver mine ! 


by Google 

Answers to Acrostic No. 90 should be addressed to the 
Acrostic Editor, Thb Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street, Strand, London, W.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on January 1 lth. 

To every light one alternative answer may be sent ; it 
should be written at the side. At the foot of his answer every 
solver should write his pseudonym and nothing else. 

Answer to No. 89. 












o m 

nni ng 


h u nd e 



e c o n 





8. Henry the 
ight in 

Notes. — Light 1. Care killed 
Eighth* Catharine of Aragon. 

" Pettish " is accepted for the "Peevish 
Acrostic No. 87. 

Solvers who write to the Acrostic Editor and des re 
answers to their queries should c no lose a stamped addressed 
envelope with their letters, and he will endeavour to re-ply. 



and CROCK. 


MANY bard things are~ said, and 
sometimes even thought, about 
the artistic demerits of our inco- 
herent revues and so-called variety 
entertainments, and of the drolls who give a 
certain coherence to the incoherent and unity 
to the variety. This only shows that the 
old superstition of an artistic hierarchy still 
lags superfluous. A revue may be a better 
work of art than a five-act tragedy in blank 
verse. The real difference between the new 
entertainment and the old, or the old- 
fashioned, is the altered relation of play- 
wright and player. In the old, it was the 
author that mattered, and the player was his 
interpreter. In the new, the player, with 
occasional assistance from the author, inter- 
prets himself. Often enough he is his own 
author, not only interpreting himself, but 
inventing the material and medium for the 
interpretation. This makes the task of our 
drolls at once glorious and onerous. Their 
talent must be real, fresh, vital, individual — 
a genuine artistic /* value "—or that good- 
humoured yet inexorable tyrant, the public, 
will dismiss them with Louis XIV. s fatal 
41 We are not amused." A richly-endowed 
temperament, brought to its full power by 
perfect technique, in complete possession of 
its resources, dominating its ptiblic by 
Natural gift of drollery or wit, or astonishing 
it by impeccable accomplishment : this is 
what is demanded, and it is no slight achieve- 
ment to satisfy such a demand. There are 
several artistes who satisfy it brilliantly at 
the present moment, But one must make a 
choice, and I have selected three : Mr. George 
Robey, Mr. Nelson Keys, and Gro< L. 




Mr. Robey has a comic face. Why ? 
What is a comic face ? Bergson asks the 
question in his essay on " Laughter/' con- 
necting it with his general theory of the 
comic as the mechanical encrusted on the 
living, and answers that a comic face will 
present something rigid in its wonted 
mobility, an ingrained twitching, or a fixed 
grimace. Mr, Robey gets the something 
rigid by heavy semi-circular eyebrows, and 
the fixed grimace is one of surprise. The 
month is flexible and humorous, and often 
contradicts the wondering fixity of the brows, 
so that the face seems in two compartments 
the pursed knowingness of the lower half 
" giving away " the round innocence of the 
upper. But surprise is the dominant ex- 
pression, and Mr, Robey *s whole attitude is 
one of surprise. He is mildly surprised as 
Johnny Jones. He is haughtily surprised 
as Louis XV. He is indignantly sur- 
prised at his audience. 

NEEDLESS to say, the relation of every 
droll to his audience is of the last 
intimacy. It is of the essence of 
his art to take them into Ins confidence, 
to share his good things with them, never 
to take his eye oft them. Here he is at 
the opposite pole from the serious actor, 
who must appear totally unconscious of 
his audience, never speak to them or look 
at them. The sense of illusion must never 
be broken. There are Cases of half-illusion 
—Charles I.amb instanced the " artificial " 
comedy of Con gr eve and Sheridan — where a 
certain subconsciousness of the audience on 

the ^*'!R5^Ml^ll^!Fr issib,e - or * s 

A. B. Walkley 


I said, of surprise. Someone in the audience has indiscreetly 
laughed at a supposed double meaning which Mr. Robey 
meant in ail innocence, and Mr. Robey is surprised, painfully 

surprised. Mr, Robey is 
always on the alert for 
the audience's peccadilloes, 
always prompt to reprove 
them with his eyebrows 
raised in surprise. Some- 
times he will give a little 
start and a severe look as 
though to check unseemly 
laughter in advance— -with 
the result, of course, that 

Have you ever looked at 

George Robey as an Italian 

street musician. 

Lamb maintained, desirable. 
But about the droll there can 
be no doubt. There is no 
pretence of illusion or half- 
Illusion in his case. He is 
assuming a part only to act 
himself. And so he is not to 
be content with the " arti- 
ficial" comedian's device of 
under- lining passages for the 
audience's especial benefit, as 
Lamb said Jack Palmer did 
with the sentiments of Joseph 
Surface ; he must break off 
the action to address his 
audience directly. Of this 
peculiar function of the droll 
Mr + Robey is an accomplished 
master; The point is to choose 
the right moment and to sav 
the right thing. Very often 
Mr. Robey will say nothing, 
but will " look volumes." 
And it is generally a look, as 

** As a Red Indian, George Robey wore a plumed head-dress 
that stood on end when foe was ahuv/w a turn- bottle/ 


Three Drolls 

the laughter is louder than ever. His general battle. The public know their Robey, and 
demeanour is that of a nervous, sensitive Sir. Robey knows liis public. 

man, worried by an audience of whose taste 
and tact he can never \x> quite >nre. Me has 
to be ever on the watch to keep them on The 
right path. At times he openly upbraids 

And, among other things, he knows that 
thev like to hear clearlv and to understand 




them. Hut always in a tout: and 
with a face of surprise, 

Note that in an inferior artiste 
this attitude, far from provoking 
roars of laughter, would be resented. 
You must have conquered vour 
audience, proved your ability to 
amuse it without fail, before it 
will grant you the privilege of 
familiarity. Prestige is half the 


what they hear. Mr. 

Uobey takes care that 

not a word he utters 

shall fail to reach the 

remotest comer of the 

Nelson Keys house, and every key- 

and the characters he play a in word in a sentence is 

"' London, Paris, and New Yorkir iW<f^«^ e<l ** ^th 

A. R, Walkley 


the .stroke of a hammer. Indeed, for this 
quality of hammering out emphatic words I 
can recall no artiste to equal Mr. Robey save 
Sarah Bernhardt. But then Sarah gabbled 
all the little intermediate words, and that 
Mr. Robey never does. He is not afraid of 

looks like two inches of— nothing. You pat 
it un the head— and it's ten to one you've 
gut the wvoiig end,' etc., etc. This disquisi- 
tion, read in cold blood, is not deliriously 
funny* Hut Mr. Robey 's bewilderment at 
the unfamiliar epithet is obviously so sincere, 


repetitions any more 

than he is of italics. 

I i* mcaii^ at all costs, 

to be plain. Thus, 

someone has called 

him a if she-worm/' 

This is a novelty, and he ponders over it. 

" Why she- worm ? Why she-worm ? " Then 

(to the audience) : " Have you ever seen a 

worm ? Have you ever looked at a worm ? 

Have you ever examined a worm ? Well, it 


he has so honest a desire to solve the mystery 
by considering the anatomy and physiology 
of the worm, Ids face of surprise is so much 
more surprised than usual, that the effect of 
the passage, as delivered, is highly ludicrous. 
Highly ludicrous, that is to say, provided you 
are in the right mood. It would be absurd 
to go to him in your ultra-fastidious moments, 
when nothing but the choicest epigrams will 
serve your turn. You do not gather grapes 
of thorns or epigrams from Mr, Robey. He 
addresses a vast popular audience who would 
simply yawn (and perhaps throw things at 
him) if he were too clever. Probably he i* a 
\vi 1 1 ie(; | ^qii£ jinL | ifejaJtj^if ^ |t(^|B|4l j li^J ever dares to 


Three Drolls 

be on the boards. There he must be simple, 
direct, not to say blunt. But his fun is 
always genuine fun, of its kind. Indeed, 
genuineness is his chief attraction. His 
jokes seem to be spontaneous, his attitude 
and gestures those of the natural man, in- 
capable of dissimulation or disguise. See 
him shrinking under the eagle eye of the 
gendarme — shrinking, shrinking in an agony 
of nervous apprehension, yet with a desperate 
attempt to appear unconcerned. And just 
as naturally as he expresses fear of the 
gendarme he expresses joy over the whisky- 
bottle, or gratification at the sight of a pretty 
face. All his emotions are unrestrained, like 
a child's. Drolls appeal to the child in us. 
That, though we may not know it (the child 
in us being instinctive and not self-conscious), 
is why we love them. And as children like 
to hear the same stories over and over again, 
so they like to find the old recognizable badge 
in their drolls — if it's only a red nose. In 
Mr. Harry Tate they expect a certain mous- 
tache. In Mr. Robey the badge is a certain 
hat — a shallow bowler, several sizes too small 
for him — and a semi-clerical frock-coat. He 
probably " came out " in that garb, and he 
assumes it whenever he gets the chance. At 
the same time, he has the gift of fantasy in 
character costumes. As a Red Indian he 
wore a plumed head-dress that stood on end 
when he was shown a rum-bottle. As an 
Italian street musician he wears a monkey 
pinned to his coat-tails. Yes, drolls appeal 
to the child in us, and it is wise to be a child 
again as often as you can. 


There are many ways of serving the Comic 
Spirit. No two temperaments could be, 
superficially, more unlike than those of Mr. 
Robey and Mr. Nelson Keys. Mr. Robey is 
stolid, phlegmatic, fond of appearing un- 
moved amid contrasted agitation on the 
stage or the storm of laughter provoked by 
his last joke all over the house. The eye- 
brows go up, but the man himself stands 
still. Mr. Keys is mercurial, all vivacity, 
all " air and fire," here, there, and every- 
where, translating himself into a score of 
different individualities in as many minutes, 
not one but all mankind's epitome, a human 
kaleidoscope. Mr. Robey is, like Mr. Wopsle's 
Hamlet, massive and concrete ; you never 
lose sight of him in his make-up. Mr. Keys's 
make-up is often a perfect disguise, so perfect 
that, until he has opened his mouth and 
declared himself, you have failed to " spot " 
him in the stage crowd. But it is not merely 
a question of make-up. He identifies himself 
with his assumed character, loses himself in 
it, lives it. In other words, Mr. Keys is a 
better mimic than Mr. Robey, though it by 
no means follows that he is a better droll. 

Indeed, any classification of artistes in some 
supposed order of merit, whether they are 
drolls or tragedians, or novelists, or poets, or 
painters, belongs to the school-boy order of 
criticism. - There is a commercial classifica- 
tion, no doubt, which managers and pub- 
lishers and picture-dealers cannot afford to 
ignore, but market values do not ehter into 
aesthetic estimates. Mr. Robey and Mr. 
Keys have their several publics. The wise, 
the catholic-minded in humour, will know 
how to enjoy them both. Let us like what 
is excellent, no matter what it is : whether it 
be a tragedy of Sophocles, the wit of Congreve, 
Mr. George Robey's ironic surprise at his 
audience, or the mimetic antics of Mr. Nelson 
Keys. They are all, to borrow one of Mr. 
Keys's catchwords from " London, Paris, and 
New York," " awf'ly good." 

HE is seen, perhaps at his best, certainly 
at his most various, in this revue. The 
catchword quoted, not remarkable in 
itself, but uttered in a hundred different tones 
and coming in as a perpetual " refrain " to the 
quaintest conversational amenities, is from 
" A Dressing- Room Episode." Mr. Keys, as 
himself — that is, as the miniature, spare 
figure in evening dress, with dangling cane 
and silk hat perched on the back of the head, 
so familiar in the posters — has strolled into 
a fellow-actor's dressing-room, evidently after 
dining a little too well, and inflicts on his 
friend a series of what in any other man 
would be tiresome inanities. He praises his 
friend's performance, but upsets his looking- 
glass and dislodges his wig from its block — 
and he incoherently prattles on and on. In 
any other man, I say, this would be tiresome. 
But it never tires you with Mr. Keys, his 
mischief is so impish, his caricature of the 
importunate visitor , abounding in inoppor- 
tune compliments is so true. Caricature ? 
Hardly ; say rather criticism. 

For I venture to claim Mr. Keys as a fellow- 
critic. What is the first business of criticism ? 
Is it not to put yourself in the criticized 's 
place, to adopt his point of view, to recreate 
his work within yourself ? From that stand- 
point you proceed to your own critical re- 
serves. Well, Mr. Keys goes through the 
same process. To represent a character, you 
must first apprehend it ; but you may appre- 
hend it merely, and then you are the dupe of 
it. Mr. Keys apprehends it critically, and so 
represents it as to mark his critical reserva- 
tions by slightly emphasizing its weaknesses, 
its absurdities. You laugh — and the chief 
end purposed is thereby gained — but you 
feel that you are laughing intelligently, that 
you have gained an insight into the character 
you are laughing at. " Inlerroge-toi quat?d 
tu ris," wrote Stendhal to his sister. Ask 
yourself about the quality of your laughter 

A. B. Walkley 


over Mr. Nelson Keys, and you will find that 
there is an intellectual element in it, it is 
never empty laughter. I must not do Mr t 
Keys the disservice of pretending that he 
appeals exclusively to the " high- brows " ; 
he appeals to every human being with a 
sense of fun. But he will always be a special 
favourite with the people who prefer 
to season their fun with a little admix- 
ture of thought* 

This same critical faculty of his, 
the faculty of commenting on a part 
in the very way he plays it, is shown 
in his impersonation of the three 
lovers, English, French, and American, 
in the triad of brief scenes illus- 
trating the stock dramatic " motif ' 
of one- woman -between -two-men 
The contriver of the scenes (I 
suppose Mr. Arthur Wimperis) 
has made each lover ridiculous, 
and that is all right. But 
Mr. Keys has marked the 
international " nuances " of 
the ridiculous ; his English 
lover, vapouring, romantic 
{a kind of " Georgian " poet, 
shall one say ?), is as unlike 
his ecstatic, gesticulating French 
lover as both are unlike the 
sentimental f ' Johnny-get-your- 
gun JP cowboy lover. I cited 
Stendhal just now. The 
author of " De 1' Amour/' 
who was fond of inter- 
national contrasts in amor- 
ism, would have been de- 
lighted with these three 
presented by Mr, Keys. 

Nor do these exhaust his 
i liter nat i on al t y pes . Hi s 
German, laboriously but 
unsuccessfully disguised as 
an Englishman, is an old 
favourite of his, and a 
remarkable burlesque it is 
of the stage Teuton, But 
his Spanish musician is quite 
new and more Spanish, you 
guess, than anything in 
Spain. You have just seen a 
real bit of Spain, Laura de 
Santelmo* a most graceful 
dancer, and you have noticed 
how she punctuatest he slow, 
voluptuous rhythm of the dance by an 
abrupt toss of the head and sudden stiffening 
of the body — a sharp staccato to interrupt 
the languid legato. To this lovely vision of 
Spain on the romantic, the Don Quixote, 
side, as you may say, Mr. Keys furnishes a 
pendant of Spain on the Sancho Panza side 
— ra darting, whistling, thrumming little 
figure, pouring out a voluble patter that 

sounds authentically Spanish though it is 
really Cockney. Whether Mr, Keys is a 
linguist or not, I haven't the remotest idea ; 
but Jie is one of those (the late Mr, Evelyn 
Beerbohm was, notably, another) who have 
a fine ear for the melody, the pitch, the 
accentuation of a forei&n language, though 
they may be quite ignorant of its 
vocabulary. His ear, again, has caught 
exactly the fiat, toneless notes of a 
Japanese s] leaking English, His im- 
personation of a Japanese juggler 
is (especially when his tricks fail) 
one of the drollest, and at the same 
time one of the most accurately 
observed, tilings he does. 

Indeed, this actor's gift 
of observation should per- 
haps count first in the 
long list of his assets — 
that, and the gift of 
mi m i c ry , w hi ch e nables 
him to reproduce what 
he lias observed. No 
detail escapes liim, 
and he has the critical 
flair for the right, the 
char ac terist ic , detail . 
This is the peculiar 
talent of the realist ; when 
he is required to present 
something that he has 
had no chance of observ- 
ing he is by no means so 
happy. Mr. Keys's Beau 
Rrumniell, 1 should guess 
(for it can only be guess- 
work for any of us) i& no 
more like Brummell than 
his companions are like 
Vox and Sheridan and 
the Prince of Wales. 
But he has seen many 
a Cockney visitor to 
Brighton, and he must 
have seen an ok] while- 
haired retired admiral, 
and these two types he 
reproduces for you in 
perfection. They bring 
his bunch of characters 
in one evening up to 
ten. As you have seen, 
no one of the ten is in 
the least like another, 
ami not one of them is a conventional type, 
wherein the actor has merely to imitate 
another actor. I spoke of his observation, 
but, remember, his impersonations have not 
only to be true, they have to be funny — and 
the amount of comic invention he has lavished 
on them is prodigious. 

All this, 1 think it must be agreed, makes 
up a r^tarkablf'it^t&lMfityilt^Mamentp talent, 

the Inimitable 


Three Drolls 

and art. The blend presupposes an inex- 
haustible vitality. Obviously, there goes 
with it a passionate desire to please. The 
desire is richly gratified. London likes to: be 
thrilled now and; then by a serious actor ; it 
enjoys its few comedians, but it goes almost 
crazed with delight over its drolls. We are 
all, it has been said, born Platonists or Aris- 
totelians. That may be. But it is certain 
that we are all born Robeyites or Keysians. 
And some of us, the luckiest, are born both. 


Drollery may range from the meticulously, 
realistic to the extravagantly grotesque. The 
most extravagant form of the grotesque is 
what may be called the grockesque. For 
Grock the inimitable must have an adjective 
to himself. None but himself can be his 
parallel. To describe him as a musical 
clown would be misleading, because it would 
put him in a class, and Grock is a unique 
institution, like the moon or the Marble Arch. 
He is a bundle of contradictions : bland and 
sinister, as stupid as an owl and a Machiavelli 
of astuteness, flat-footed and feather-light, 
cacophonously riotous and " most musical, 
most melancholy." On his first entrance 
you are not quite sure whether he is human 
or simian, but he at once settles the question 
by startling you into laughter with a visual 
joke beyond the compass of any ape, however 
accomplished. A strange monster with a 
very high and very bald cranium, and in very 
baggy breeches, waddles in with an enormous 
portmanteau — which proves to contain a 
fiddle no larger than your hand. It seems a 
simple thing to laugh at, but your laughter 
may be explained by one of the many 
theories of the comic (not M. Bergson's), the 
theory of suddenly relaxed strain. Your 
psychic energies have been strained to cope 
with the idea of Grock's huge portmanteau, 
and are suddenly in excess and let loose by an 
inadequate sequel — the tiny fiddle. 

Then the monster has a monstrous voice, 
which seems in the fff passages almost to lift 
the roof. It can be used for musical sounds 
— as when Grock counterfeits the deep notes 
of an imaginary double bass, which he 
balances himself on the back of a chair to 
play — and it can be used for reminiscences of 
the Zoo — as when he roars with contemptuous 
surprise at being asked if he can play the 
piano. Play the piano ! (Here the violinist 

gives him a friendly hint that pianists usually 
appear in evening dress, -whereon the accom- 
modating monster waddtes off to change, ahd 
> returns looking like a grotesque beetle.) His 
chair being too far froth the 1 keyboard, he 
makes violent and repeated efforts to push 
the piano nearer. When it is whispered to 
him that it would be easier to move the chair 
he beams with naive delight at the ingenuity 
of the suggestion, and expresses his apprecia- 
tion in -a peculiarly bland roar. Then he 
slides, in. apparent absence of mind, all over 
the piano case, and, on finally deciding to 
play a" tune, does it with his feet. There- 
after he thrusts his feet through the seat of 
the chair and proceeds to give a performance 
of extraordinary brilliance on the concertina. 

HERE one must have recourse to another 
theory of the comic, the old theory 
of Aristotle that the comic is ugli- 
ness without pain. That will account for 
your laughter at Grock's grotesque appear- 
ance, his baggy breeches, his beetle-like 
dress clothes, his hideous mouth giving 
utterance to harmless ejaculations. Again, 
there is the pleasure arising from the dis- 
covery that an apparent idiot has wholly 
unexpected superiorities, acrobatic skill, 
and virtuosity in musical execution. And 
the final attraction of Grock is in your 
divination of a certain benignity of nature 
behind the mask of powder and paint. 
You feel that the monster is an amiable 
monster. You seem to discern in him 
a ripe wisdom and competence in the 
art of life, not without something of that 
philosophic indifference of the sage which 
the Greeks called " ataraxy." 

Clowns always suggest contrasts. Against 
his buffoonery in public you see some tragic 
grief in private, say a faithless wife. But 
that is "Pagliacci." Or under the daubs of red 
and white you see the pale hue of disease 
and death. But that is Dickens. Poets, 
notably Thfeodore de Banville, have con- 
ceived the clown as himself a poet. For my 
part, I like to think of him, or at any rate of 
Grock, as a contemplative philosopher, who, 
while he slides over the piano case or plays on 
the keyboard with his feet, is conscious all 
the time of possessing the secret of the 
universe, hidden from all the rest of us who 
laugh at him. That, I imagine, is why he 
regards us so benignly. 




-^9" «» 

Ethel MDell 




Doc Burton, living in the wilds of Australia with her brother Jack and his wife Adela, is 
anxious to earn her own living. Her brother, however, does not wish her to leave home except 
to marry, and strongly urges her to accept a great friend of his, Fletcher Hill, a magistrate who 
had attained his prominent position by sheer hard work in the police force. 

But Dot's heart had been given five years previously to a man who saved her from death by 
snake~bite — an outlaw known as Buckskin Bill, who had managed to slip through Fletcher Hill's 
fingers, and who had promised Dot to come back when he had turned over a new leaf. 

Fletcher's persistence, however, backed by her brother's advice, at last had its reward, and 
Dot has just given a reluctant consent to their engagement. 



JACK looked in vain for any sign of 
elation on his friend's face when 
he entered. He read nothing but 
grim determination. Dot's de- 
meanour also was scarcely reassuring. She 
seemed afraid to lift her eyes. 

" Isn't it nearly bed-time ? " she mur- 
mured to Adela as she passed. 

Adela looked at her with frank curiosity. 
There were no fine shades of feeling about 
Adela. She always went straight to the 
point — unless restrained by Jack. 

" Oh, it's quite early yet," she said, wholly 
missing the appeal in the girl's low-spoken 
words. " What have you two been doing ? 
Moonshining ? " 

Fletcher looked as contemptuous as his 
immobile countenance would allow, and sat 
down by his untouched drink without a 

But it took more than a look to repress 
Adela. She laughed aloud. "Does that 
mean I am to draw my own conclusions, 
Mr. Hill ? Would you like me to tell you 
what they are ? " 

Copyright, 1921, 

" Not for my amusement," said Hill, 
dryly. " Where did you get this whisky 
from, Jack ? I hope it's a legal brand." 

" I hope it is," agreed Jack. " I don't 
know its origin. I got it through Harley. 
You know him ? The manager of the 
Fortescue Gold Mine." 

"Yes, I know him," said Hill. "He is. 
retiring, and another fellow is taking his 

" Retiring, is he ? I thought he was the 
only person who could manage that crowd." 
Jack spoke with surprise. 

Hill took out his pipe and began to fill it . 
" He's got beyond it. Too much running 
with the hare and hunting with the hounds. 
They need a younger man with more de- 
cision and resource — someone who can handle 
them without being afraid." 

" Have they got such a man ? " questioned 

" They believe they have." Hill spoke 
thoughtfully. "He's a man from the West, 
who has done some tough work in the desert, 
' but brought back more in the way of ex- 
perience than gold. He's been working in 
the Fortescue Mine now for six months, a 
foreman for the past three. Harlev tells 

by Ethel ml £^£RSI T Y Of MICHIGAN 

4 6 

Without Prejudice 

me the men will follow him like sheep. But 
for myself, I'm not so sure of him." 

11 Not sure of him ? What are you afraid 
of ? Whisky-running ? " asked Jack, with 
a twinkle. 

There was no answering gleam of humour 
on Hill's face. " I never trust any man 
until I know him," he said. " He may be 
sound, or he may be a scoundrel. He's got 
to prove himself." 

" You take a fatherly interest in that 
mine," observed Jack. 

" I have a reason," said Fletcher Hill, 

" Ah ! Ever met Fortescue himself ? " 

" Once or twice," said Hill. 

" Pretty badly hated, isn't he ? " said 

" By the blackguards, yes." Hill spoke 
with characteristic grimness. " He's none 
the worse for that." 

" All the better, I should say," remarked 
Adela. " But what is he like ? Is he an 
old man ? " 

" About my age," said Hill. 

" I wish you'd give us an introduction to 
him," she said, with animation. " I've 
always wanted to see that mine. You'd 
like to, too, wouldn't you, Dot ? " 

Dot started a little. She had been sitting 
quite silent in the background. 

" I expect it would be quite interesting," 
she said, as Hill looked towards her. " But 
perhaps it wouldn't be very easy to manage 

" I could arrange it if you cared to go," 
said Hill. 

" Could you ? How kind of you ! But 
it would mean spending the night at Trelevan, 
wouldn't it ? I — I think we are too busy 
for that." Dot glanced at her brother in 
some uncertainty. 
m " Oh, it could be managed," said Jack, 
kindly. " Why not ? You don't get much 
fun in life. If you want to see the 
mine, and Hill can arrange it, it shall be 

" Thank you," said Dot. 

Adela turned towards her. " My dear, do 
work up a little enthusiasm ! You've sat 
like a mute ever since you came in. What's 
the matter ? " 

Dot was on her feet in a moment. This 
sort of baiting, good-natured though it was, 
was more than she could bear. " I've one 
or two jobs left in the kitchen," she said. 
" I'll go and attend to them — if no one 

She was gone with the words, Adela's 
ringing laugh pursuing her as she closed the 
door. She barely paused in the kitchen, 
but fled to her own room. She could not — 
no, she could not — face the laughter and 
congratulations that night. 

SHE flung herself down upon her bed 
and lay there trembling like a terrified 
creature caught in a trap. Her brain 
was a whirl of bewildering emotions. She 
knew not which way to turn to escape the 
turmoil, or even if she were glad or sorry 
for the step she had taken. She wondered 
if Hill would tell Jack and Adela the 
moment her back was turned, and dreaded 
to hear the sound of her sister-in-law's foot- 
steps outside her door. 

But no one came, and after a time she 
grew calmer. After all, though in the end 
she had made her decision somewhat sud- 
denly, it had not been an unconsidered one. 
Though she could not pretend to love 
Fletcher Hill, she had a sincere respect for 
him. He was solid, and she knew that her 
future would be safe in his hands. The past 
was past, and every day took her farther 
from it. Yet very deep down in her soul 
there still lurked the memory of that past. 
In the daytime she could put it from her, 
stifle it, crowd it out with a multitude of 
tasks ; but at night in her dreams that 
memory would not always be denied. In 
her dreams the old vision returned — tender, 
mocking, elusive — a sunburnt face with eyes 
of vivid blue that looked into hers, smiling 
and confident with that confidence that is 
only possible between spirits that are akin. 
She would feel again the pressure of a man's 
lips on the hollow of her arm — that spot 
which still bore the tiny mark which once 
had been a snake-bite. He had come to her 
in her hour of need, and though he was a 
fugitive from justice, she would never forget 
his goodness, his readiness to serve her, his 
chivalry. And while in her waking hours 
she chid herself for her sentimentality, yet 
even so, she had not been able to force herself 
to cast her brief romance away. 

Ah, well, she had done it now. The way 
was closed behind her. There could be no 
return. It was all so long ago. She had 
been little more than a child then, and now 
she was growing old. The time had come to 
face the realities of life, to put away the 
dreams. She believed that Fletcher Hill 
was a good man, and he had been very 
patient. She quivered a little at the thought 
of that patience of his. There was a cast- 
iron quality about it, a forcefulness, that 
made her wonder. Had she ever really met 
the man who dwelt within that coat of mail ? 
Could there be some terrible revelation in 
store for her ? Would She some day find 
that she had given herself to a being utterly 
alien to her in thought and impulse ? He 
had shown her so little — so very little — of 
his soul. 

Did he really love her, she wondered ? 
Or had he merely determined to win her be- 
cause it had feeen so hard a task ? He was 

Ethel M, Dell 


a man who revelled in overcoming difficulties, 
in asserting his grim mastery in the face of 
heavy odds. He was never deterred by 
circumstances, never turned back from any 
purpose upon the accomplishment of which 
he had set his mind. His subordinates were 
afraid to tell him of failure. She had heard 
it said that 
Bloodhound Hill 
i- ou Id be a savage 
animal when 

THERE came 
a low sound 
at her door, 
the soft turning 
of the handle. 
Jack's voice whis- 
pering through 
the gloom. 

"Are you 
asleep, little 
'un ? " 

She started up 
on the bed. 'Oh, 
jack, come in, 
dear! Come 

He came to 
her, put his arms 
about her, and 
held her close. 
rc Fletcher's bt^n 
telling mo," he 
whispered into 
her ear. "Adela's- 
gone to bed. 
It's quite all 
right, little J un f 
is it ? You're 
not — sorry ? M 

She caught the 
anxiety in the 
words as she 
clung to him. 
"I— don't think 
so," she whis- 
pered back, 
" Only I — I'm 
rather fright- 
ened, Jack." 

"There's no 
need, darling/' 

said Jack, and kissed her very tended v. 
* He's a good fellow — the best of fellows. 
He's sworn to me to make you happy/' 

She was trembling a little in his hold. M He 
— doesn't want to mam- me yet, does he ? " 
she asked, nervously* 

He put a very gentle hand upon her head. 
" Don't funk the last fence, old girl ! " he 
said, softly* " You'll like being married/' 

" Ah ! " She was breathing quickly. " J 

1 He came to her, put 
held hei 

am not so sure. And there's no getting 
back, is there, Jack ? Oh, please, do a*sk 
him to wait a little while ! I'm sure he will. 
He is very kind/' 

" He lias waited live years already,' 1 Jack 
pointed out. rf Don't you think that's 
alniust long enough, dear? " 

She put a hand 
to her throat, 
feeling as if 
there were some 
cons t r iction 
there. "He has 
been speaking to 
you a bo u t it ! 
He wants you to 
— to persuade 
mc— to — to make 

me " 

14 No, dear, 
no!" Jack 
spoke very 
gravely. "He 
wants you to 
please yourself. 
It is I who think 
that a long delay 
would be a mis- 
take. Can't you 
be brave, Dot ? 
Take what the 
gods send — and 
be thankful ? H 

She tried to 
laugh. " I'm an 
awful idiot* Jack. 
Yes, 1 will— I 
will be brave. 
After alJ P it isn't 
as if — as if I were 
really sacrificing 
anything, is it ? 
And you're sure 
he's a good man, 
aren't you? You 
are sure he will 
never let me 
down ? '* 

tJ I am quite 
sure;" Jack said, 
firmly. " He is 
a fine man, 
D o t , and he 
will always sot 
your happiness before his own/' 

She breathed a short sigh, " Thank you. 
Jack. I feel better, You're wonderfully good 
to me, dear old boy* Tell him—tell him 
111 mam- him as soon as ever I can get 
ready ! I must get a few things together 
first,' mustn't I ? U 

Jack laughedL-a Jittlfo. " Y'ou look verv 
nice in what you've got." 

his arms 

close,* ' 

about her* and 

If I'm 

4 8 

Without Prejudice 

going to live at Wallacetown — Wallacetown, 
mind you, the smartest place this side of 
Sydney — I must be respectably clothed. I 
shall have to go to Trelevan, and see what 
I can find." 

" You and Adela had better have a week 
off," said Jack, " and go while Fletcher is 
busy there. You'll see something of him in 
the evenings then." 

" What about you ? " she said, squeezing 
his arm. 

" Oh, I shall be all right. I'm expecting 
Lawley in from the ranges. He'll help me. 
I've got to learn to do without you, eh, little 
'un ? " He held her to him again. 

She clasped his neck. " It's your own 
doing, Jack ; but I know it's for my good. 
You must let me come and help you some- 
times — just for a holiday." Her voice 

He kissed her again with great tenderness. 
" You'll come just whenever you feel like it, 
my dear," he said. " And God bless you ! " 



ON account of its comparative proximity 
to the gold mine, Trelevan, though of 
no great size, was a busy place. Dot 
had stayed at the hotel there with her brother 
on one or two occasions, but it was usually 
noisy and crowded, and, unlike Adela, she 
found little to amuse her in the type of 
men who thronged it. Fletcher Hill always 
stayed there when he came to Trelevan. 
The police-court was close by, and it suited 
his purpose ; but he mixed very little with 
his fellow-guests and was generally regarded 
as unapproachable — a mere judicial machine 
with whom very few troubled to make 

Fletcher Hill in the tele of a squire of 
dames was a situation that vastly tickled 
Adela 's sense of humour. As she told Jack, 
it was going to be the funniest joke of her 

Neither Hill nor his grave young franc k 
seemed aware of any cause for mirth, but 
with Adela that was neither here nor there. 
She and Dot never had had anything in 
common, and as for Fletcher Hill, he was the 
driest stick of a man she had ever met. But 
she was not going to be bored on that 
account. To give Adela her due, boredom 
was a malady from which she very rarely 

She was in the best of spirits on the 
evening of their arrival at Trelevan. The 
rooms that Fletcher Hill had managed to 
secure for them led out of each other, and 
the smaller of them, Dot's, looked out over 
the busiest part of the town. As Adela 
pointed out, this was an advantage of little 

value at night, and it could be shared in the 

Dot said nothing. She was used to her 
sister-in-law's cheerful egotism, and Adela 
had never hesitated to invade her privacy if 
she felt so inclined. Her chief consolation 
was that Adela was a very sound sleeper, so 
that there was small chance of having her 
solitude disturbed at night. 

She herself was not sleeping so well as 
usual just then. A great restlessness was 
upon her, and often she would pace to and 
fro like a caged thing for half the night. 
She was not actively unhappy, but a great 
weight seemed to oppress her — a sense of 
foreboding that was sometimes more than 
she could bear. 

Fletcher Hill's calm countenance as he 
welcomed them upon their arrival reassured 
her somewhat. He was so perfectly self- 
controlled and steady in his demeanour. 
The very grasp of his hand conveyed confi- 
dence. She felt as if he did her good. 

They dined together in the common 
dining-room, but at a separate table in a 
corner. There were many coming and going, 
and Adela was frankly interested in them all. 
As she said, it was so seldom that she had 
the chance of studying the human species in 
such variety. When the meal was over she 
good-naturedly settled herself in a secluded 
corner and commanded them to leave her. 

" There's something in the shape of a 
glass-house at the back," she said. " I don't 
know if it can be called a conservatory. But 
anyhow I should think you might find a 
seat and solitude there, and that, I conclude, 
is what you most want. Anyhow, don't 
bother about me ! I can amuse myself here 
for any length of time." 

They took her at her word, though neither 
of them seemed in any hurry to depart. 
Dot lingered because the prospect of a Ute-ii- 
t:te in a strange place where she could not 
easily make her escape if she desired to do so 
embarrassed her. And Hill waited, as his 
custom was, with a grim patience that some- 
how only served to increase her reluctance 
to be alone with him. 

" Run along ! It's getting late," Adela 
said at last. " Carry her off, Mr. Hill ! 
You'll never get her to make the first move." 

There was some significance in words and 
smile. Dot stiffened and turned sharply 

Hill followed her, and outside the room 
she waited for him. 

" Do you know the way ? " she asked, 
without looking at him. 

He took her by the arm, and again she had 
a wayward thought of the hand of the law. 
She knew now what it felt like to be mar- 
shalled by a, policeman. She almost uttered 
a raimrk to that effejctii.bjrt} glancing up at 

Ethel M. Dell 


him, decided that it would be out of place. 
For the man's harsh features were so sternly 
set that she wondered if Adela's careless 
talk had aroused his anger. 

She said nothing, therefore, and he led 
her to the retreat her sister-in-law had 
mentioned in unbroken silence. It was 
certainly not a very artistic corner. A few 
straggling plants in pots decorated it, but 
they looked neglected and shabby. Yet 
the thought went through her, it might have 
been a bower of delight had they been in the 
close accord of lovers who desire naught but 
each other. 

THE place was deserted, lighted only 
by a high window that looked into a 
billiard-room. The window was closed, 
but the rattle of the balls and careless 
voices of the players came through the 
silence. A dusty bench was let into the 
wall below it. 

" Do you like this place ? " asked Fletcher 

She glanced around her with a little 
nervous laugh. " It's as good as any other, 
isn't it ? " 

His hand still held heir arm. He bent 
slightly, looking into her face. " I've been 
wanting to talk to you," he said. 

" Have you ? " She tried to meet his look, 
but failed. H What about ? " she said, 
almost in a whisper. 

He bent lower. " Dot, are you afraid of 
me ? " he said. 

That brought her eyes to his face with a 
jerk. " I — I— no— *>f course not ! " she 
stammered/ ip confusion. 

" Quite<sure ? M he said. 

She "ejected herself with an effort* 
" Quite, she told him with decision, and 
met hi? gjfrze with something of a challenge 
in her own. 

But he disconcerted her the next moment. 
She felt again the man's grim mastery be- 
hind the iron of his patience. " I want to 
talk to you," he said, " about our marriage." 

" Ah ! " It was scarcely more than a 
sharp intake of the breath, and as it escaped 
again Dot turned white to the lips. His 
close scrutiny became suddenly more than 
she could bear, and she turned sharply from 

He kept his hand upon her arm, but he 
made no further effort to restrain her, 
merely waiting mutely for her to speak. 

In the room behind them there came the 
smart knocking of the balls, and a voice 
cried, " By Jove, he's fluked again ! It's 
the devil's own luck ! " 

Dot flinched a little. The careless voice 
jarred upon her. Her nerves were all on 
edge. Fletcher Hill's hand was like a steel 
trap, cold and firm and merciless. She 
' Vol. Ui -a. v - :i 

longed to wrench herself free from it, yet felt 
too paralysed to move. 

And still he waited, not urging her, yet by 
his very silence making her aware of a com- 
pulsion she could not hope to resist for long. 

She turned to him at last in desperation. 
" What — have you to suggest ? " she asked. 

" I ? " he said. " I shall be ready at the 
end of the week — if that will suit you." 

She gazed at him blankly. " The end of 
the week ! But of course not — of course 
not ! You are joking ! " 

11 No. I am serious," Fletcher Said. 
" Sit down a minute and let me explain ! " 

Then, as she hesitated, he very gently put 
her down upon the seat under the closed 
window, and stood before her, blocking her 

" I have been wanting this opportunity of 
talking to you/' he said, " without Jack 
chipping in. He's a good fellow, and I know 
he is on my side. But I have a fancy for 
scoring off my own bat. Listen, Dot ! I 
am not suggesting anything very preposter- 
ous. You have promised to marry me. 
Haven't you ? " 

" Yes," she whispered, breathlessly. 
" Yes." 

" Yes," he repeated. " And the longer 
you have to think about it, the more scared 
you will get. My dear child, what is the 
point of spinning it out in this fashion ? 
You are going through agonies of mind — for 
nothing. If I gave you back your freedom, 
you wouldn't be any happier, would you ? " 

She was silent. 

" Would you ? " he said again, and laid 
his hand upon her shoulder. 

" I — don't think so," she said, faintly. 

He took up her words again with magis- 
terial emphasis. " You don't think so. 
Well, there is every reason to suppose you 
wouldn't. You weren't happv before, were 
you ? " 

She gripped her courage with immense 
effort. " I haven't been happy — since," she 

He accepted the statement without an 
instant's discomfiture. " I know you haven't. 
I realized that the moment I saw you. You 
have been suffering the tortures of the 
damned because you're in a positive hell of 
indecision. Oh, I know all about it." His 
hand moved a little upon her shoulder; it 
almost seemed to caress her. " I haven't 
studied human nature all these years for 
nothing. I know you're in a perfect fever 
of doubt, and it'll go on till you're married. 
What's the good of it ? Why torture your- 
self like this when the way to happiness 
lies straight before you ? Are you hoping 
against hope that something may yet turn 
up to prevent our marriage ? Would you 
be happy if it did ? Answer me!" 



Without Prejudice 

But she shrank from answering, sitting 
with her hands clasped tightly before her 
ktid her eyes downcast like a prisoner awaiting 
sentence. " I don't know — what I want/' 
she told him, miserably. " I feel — as if — 
whatever I do — will be wrong." 

" That's just it/' said Fletcher Hill, as if 
that were the very admission he had been 
waiting for. . And then he did what for him 
was a very curious thing. He went down 
upon one knee on the dusty floor, bringing 
his .face on a . level with* hers, clasping her 
tense hands between his own. '*; You don't 
trust yourself, an£ yon won't trust me," he 
said. " Isn't that it ? Or something like 

The official air had dropped from him like 
a garment. She looked at him doubtfijlly, 
almost as if she suspected him of trying to 
trick her. Then, reassured by something in 
the harsh countenance which his voice and 
words utterly' failed to express, she leaned 
impulsively forward with a swift movement 
of surrender and laid her head against his 

" I'll da — whatever you wish," she said, in 
muffled tones. "I will trust you! I .do 
trust you ! " 

He put his arm around her, for she was 
trembling, and held her so for a space in 
silence. ' . : ' 

THE voice in the billiard-room- took up 
the tale. "That fellow's luck is posi- 
tively prodigious. He can't help scoring 
— whatever he does. He'd dig gold out of. an 
ash-heap." . 

Someone laughed, and there came ag^in # 
the clash of the billiard-balls, followed in ,a 
second by a shout of applause. . '-."'. 

The noise subsided, and Fletcher spoke. 
" My job here will be over in a week, jack 
can manage to join us at the end of it. Your 
sister-in-law is already here. Why not finish 
up by getting married and returning to 
Wallacetown with me ? " 

" I should have to go back to the farm and 
get the rest of my things," said Dot. 

" You could do that afterwards/' he said, 
" when I am away on business. I sha'n't be 
able to take you with me everywhere. - 
Some of the places I have to go to would be 
too rough for you. But I shall be at Wallace- 
town for some weeks after this job. You 
have never seen my house there. I took it 
over from the last Superintendent. I think 
you'll like it. I got it for that reason." 

She started a little. " But you didn't 
know then— — How long ago was it ? " 

" Three years/' said Fletcher Hill. " I've 
been getting it ready for you ever since." 

She looked up at him. " You — took a 
good deal for granted, didn't you ? " she 

Fletcher was smiling, dryly humorous. 
" I knew my own mind, anyway," he said. 

" And you've never had — any doubts ? " 
.questioned Dot. 

" Not one," said Fletcher Hill. 

She laid her hand on his arm with a shy 
gesture. " I hope you won't be dreadfully 
disappointed in me/' she said. 

He bent towards her, and for a moment she 
felt as if his keen eyes pierced her. " I don't 
think that is very likely," he said, and kissed 
her with the words. 

She did not shrink from his kiss, but she 
did not return it ; nor did he linger as if ex- 
pecting any return. 

He was on his feet the next moment, and 
* she wondered with a little sense of chill if he 
•were really satisfied. 



THEY found Adela awaiting them in her 
corner, but chafing for a change. 
" I want you to take us to the billiard- 
room," she said to Fletcher. "There's a 
great match on. I've heard a lot of men 
talking about it. Arid I adore watching 
billiards. I'm sure we s^fcHiV be in the 
wajc. I'll promise nqt'fa'&tk^ arid Dot is 
as duiet as a mouse." /-''"' ' ' 

Fletcher considered the point. "I believe 
it's a fairly respectable crowd, ' ]>e said, 
looking at Dot. M But you're tittd/I. 

" Oh, no," she said at oiic^. '"I.tforr't.feel 
a bit sleepy. Let lis a#^;by. alVnu'ans if 
>-ou think no one will ntjhfl;! _> 1 like watching 
billiards, too." . . _ \'\ \ \ : ' ' * 

'.' It's a man called Warden/' MiQT Adela. 
," That's the new manager of ~j|h£''.!fortesciie 
Gold Mine, .isn't it? They ?a\?'W /had: the 
iriost marveUons lupk. He 4s, flaying 'the 
old manager — Harley, and giving hJrf\ fifty 
points. * There's some pretty, warm betting 
going on, I can tell you. Do let us go and 
have a look at them ! They've got the girl 
from the bar to mark for them, so we sha'n't 
be the only women there." 

She was evidently on fire for this new ex- 
citement, and Fletcher Hill, seeing that Dot 
meant what she said, led the way without 
further discussion. He paused outside the 
billiard-room door, which stood ajar ; for a 
tense silence reigned. But it was broken in 
a moment by the sharp clash of the balls and 
a perfect howl of enthusiasm from the 

" Oh, it's over ! " exclaimed Adela. " What 
a pity ! Never mind ! Let's go in ! Per- 
haps they'll play again." 

The barmaid came flying out to ft-tch 
drinks as they entered. The atmosphere of 
the room wa* tJmk with smoke. A babel of 

v, "^ffi^TYflniBfl^f becn ""** 

Ethel M. Dell 


And then he did what (or him was a very curious thing. He went down upon one 
knee on the dusty floor, clasping her tense handb bttlwuin Ihiis own." 



Without Prejudice 

"She saw him approach Warden and tap him on the shoulder- Warden wheeled sharply, so 
sharply that the drink he held splashed over the edge of the glass. She watched the two men 

with an odd breathlessness." 

round the walls were grouped about the 
table- In the midst of them stood the victor 
in his shirt-sleeves, conspicuous in the crowd 
by reason of his great height— a splendid 
figure of manhood with a careless freedom of 
bearing that was in its way superb. 

He was turned away from the door at their 
entrance, and Dot saw only a massive head 
of straw-coloured hair above a neck that was 
burnt brick -red. Then, laughing at some 
joke, he wheeled round again to the table ; 
and she saw his face. . . , 

It was the face of a Viking, deeply sun- 
burnt, vividly alive, A fair moustache 
covered his upper lip, and lx-low it the 
teeth gleamed, white and regular like the 
teeth of an animal in the wilderness. He 
had that indescribable look of morning- 
time, of youth at its best, which only 
springs in the wild. His eyes were intensely 
blue. They gazed straight across at her 
with startling directness. 

And suddenly Dot's heart gave a great 
jerk, and stood still, It was not the first 
time that those eyes had looked into hers. 

The moment passed. He bent himself 
over the table, poised for a stroke, which 
she saw him execute a second later with a 

delicacy that thrilled hfer strangely. Full 
well did she remember the deftness and the 
Steadiness of those brown hands. Had they 
not held her up, sustained her, in the greatest 
crisis of her life ? 

Her heart throbbed on again with hard, 
uneven strokes. She was straining her ears 
for the sound of his voice — that voice that 
had once spoken to her quivering soul, 
pleading with her that she would at their 
next meeting treat him— without prejudice. 
The memory thrilled through her. This was 
the man for whose coming she had waited ^o 
long ! 

He had straightened himself again, and 
was coming round the table to follow up his 
stroke. Fletcher Hill spoke at her shoulder, 

"Sit down ! " he said, " There is room - 

There was a small space on the corner of 
the raised settee that ran along the side erf 
the room* Dot and Ad el a sat down together. 
Hill stood beside them, looking over the faces 
of t lie men present with keen eyes that missed 

Dot sat palpitating, her hands clasped 
before her, seeing only tlie great figure that 
leaiHriUWtf fftffif ^bfeKH#jfttt.ther stroke. 

Ethel M. Dell 


Would he look at her again ? Would he 
remember her ? Would he speak ? 

Fascinated, she watched him. He executed 
his stroke, again with that steady confidence, 
that self-detachment, that seemed to set 
him apart from all other men. He was 
standing close to her now, and the nearness 
of his presence thrilled her* She tingled 
from head to foot, as if under the power of 
an electric battery. 

His late opponent stood facing her on the 
other side of the table, a grey -haired man 
with crafty eyes that seemed to look in all 
directions at the same time* She took an 
instinctive dislike to him. He wore a furtive 

Warden stood up again t moving with 
that free swing of his as of one born to 
conquer. He turned deliberately and faced 

" Good evening, Mr, Hill ! " he said. " I'm 
standing drinks all round. I hope you will 
join us." 

It was frankly spoken, and HilTs instant 
refusal sounded unnecessarily curt in Dot's 

ri No p thanks. I am with ladies/' he said, 
** I suppose the play is over ? 


Warden glanced across the table, " Un- 
less Harley wants his revenge/' he said. 

The grey-haired man uttered a laugh that 
was like the bark of a vicious dog, lf 111 
have that another day/ 1 he said. M It won't 
spoil by keeping. You are a player your- 
self, Mr. Hill. Why don't you take him 
on ? " 

M Oh, do ! " burst forth Adela. " I should 
love to see a good game- You ask him to, 
Dot ! He'll do it for you/* 

But Dot sat silent, her fingers straining 
against each other, her eyes fixed straight 
before her, seeing yet unseeing, as one beneath 
a spell, 

THERE was a momentary pause. The 
room was full of the harsh babel of 
men's voices. The drinks were being 

Suddenly a voice spoke out above the 
rest. ** Here's to the new manager ! Good 
luck to him ! Bill Warden, here's to you ! 
Success and plenty of it I " 

Instantly the hubbub increased a hundred- 
fold. Bill Warden swung round laughing to 
face the clamour, and the tension went out 
of Dot. Slie drooped forward with a weary 



Without Prejudice 

gesture. As in a dream she heard the 
laughter and the shouting. It seemed to 
sweep around her in great billows of sound. 
But she was too tired to notice, too tired to 
care. He did not know her. She was sure of 
that now. He had forgotten. The memory 
that had affected her so poignantly had slipped 
like a dim cloud below his horizon. The 
glory had departed, and life was grey and cold. 

" You are tired," said Fletcher's voice 
beside her. " Would you like to go ? " 

She looked up at him. His eyes were 
searching hers, and swiftly she realized that 
this discovery that she had made must be 
kept a secret. If Hill began to suspect, he 
would very quickly ferret out the truth, 
and the man would be ruined. She knew 
Hill's stern justice. He would act instantly 
and without mercy if he knew the truth. 

She braced herself with a great effort to 
baffle him. -1 No, oh, no ! " she said. " I 
am really not tired. Do play ! I should 
love to see you play." 

He looked sardonic. " Love to see me 
'beaten ! " he said. 

She put out a quick hand. " Of course 
not I You will beat him easily. You are 
always on the top. Do try ! " 

He smiled a little, and turned from her. 
She saw him approach Warden and tap him 
on the shoulder. 

Warden wheeled sharply, so sharply that 
the drink he held splashed over the edge of 
the glass. The excitement in the room was 
dying down. She watched the two men with 
an odd breathlessness, and in a moment she 
realized that everyone else present was 
watching them also. 

Then they both turned towards her, and 
through a great singing that suddenly arose 
in her ears she heard Adela whisper excitedly, 
"My dear, he is actually going to introduce 
that amazing person to us ! " 

She sat up with a stiff movement, feeling 
cold, inanimate, strangely impotent, and in 
a moment he was standing before her with 
Fletcher, and she heard the latter introduce 
her as his " affianced wife." 

Mutely she gave him her hand. It was 
Adela who filled in the gap, eager for enter- 
tainment, and the next moment Warden had 
turned to her, and was talking in his careless, 
leisurely fashion. The ordeal was past, her 
pulses quieted down again. Yet she realized 
that he had not addressed a single word to 
her, and the conviction came upon her that 
not thus would he have treated one who was 
a total stranger to him. 

Because of Fletcher, who remained beside 
her, she forced herself to join in the conversa- 
tion, seconding Adela's urgent request that 
the two men would play. 

Warden laughed and looked at Fletcher. 
" Do you care to take me on, sir ? " he said. 

From the other side of the table, Harley 
uttered his barking laugh. " Now is your 
chance, Mr. Hill ! Down him once and for 
all, and give us the pleasure of seeing how it's 
done ! " 

There was venom in the words. They 
were a revelation to Dot, the almost silent 
looker-on. It was as if a flashlight had 
given her a sudden glimpse of this man's 
soul, showing her bitter enmity — a black 
and cruel hatred — an implacable yearning 
for revenge. She felt as if she had looked 
down into the seething heart of a volcano. 

Then she heard Hill's voice. " I am quite 
willing to play," he said. 

A buzz of interest went through the room. 
The prospective match plainly excited 
Warden's many admirers. They drew to- 
gether, and she heard some low-voiced 
betting begin. 

But this was instantly checked by Fletcher. 
"I'm not doing it for a gamble," he said, 
curtly. " Please keep your money in your 
pockets, or the match is off ! " 

They looked at him with lowering glances, 
but they submitted. It was evident to Dot 
that they all stood in considerable awe of 
him— all save Warden, who chalked Hill's 
cue with supreme self-assurance, and then 
lfghted a cigarette without the smallest hint 
of embarrassment. 

THE match began, and though the 
gambling had been checked a breath- 
less interest prevailed. Fletcher Hills 
play was not well known at Trelevan, but 
at the very outset it Mtris evident to the 
most casual observer that He w^s p. skilled 
player. He spoke scarcely at all, and his 
face was mask-like in its composure, but 
Dot, watching, knew with that intuition 
which of late had begun to grow upon 
her that he was" grimly set upon obtain- 
ing the victory. The knowledge thrilled her 
with a strange excitement. She knew that 
he was in a fashion desirous of proving 
himself in her eyes, that he had entered 
into the contest solely for her. 

As for Warden, she believed he was playing 
entirely to please himself. He took an 
artistic interest in every stroke, but the 
ultimate issue of the game did not seem to 
enter into his calculation. He played like 
a sportsman, sometimes rashly, often bril- 
liantly, but never selfishly. It was impossible 
to watch him with indifference. Even his 
failures were sensational. As Adela had said 
of him, he was amazing. 

Hill's play was absolutely steady. It 
lacked the vitality of the younger man's, 
but it had about it a clockwork species of 
regularity that Dot found curiously pleasing 
to watch. She had not thought that her 

Ethel M. Dell 


the game was half through she was as deeply 
absorbed as anyone present. 

It did not take her long to realize that 
public sympathy was entirely on Warden's 
side, and it was that fact more than any 
other that disposed her in Fletcher's favour. 
She saw that he had a hard fight before 
him, for Warden led almost from the begin- 
ning, though with all his brilliancy he never 
drew very far ahead. Fletcher kept a steady 
pace behind him, and she knew he would 
not be easily beaten. 

Once he came and stood beside her after 
a very creditable break, and she slipped a 
shy hand into his for a few seconds. His 
fingers closed upon it in that slow, inevitable 
way of his, but he neither spoke nor looked 
at her, and she had a feeling that his atten- 
tion never for an instant wandered from the 
job in hand. She admired him for his con- 
centration, yet would she have been less than 
woman had she not felt slighted by it. He 
might have given her one look ! 

Adela was full of enthusiasm for his op- 
ponent, and that also caused her a vague sense 
of irritation. She was beginning to feel as if 
the evening would never come to an end. 

The scoring was by no means slow, how- 
ever, and the general interest increased 
almost to fever pitch as the finish came in 
sight. Hill's steady progress in the wake 
of his opponent seemed at length to dis- 
concert the latter. He began to play wildly, 
to attempt impossible things. His sup- 
porters remonstrated without result. He 
seemed to have flpng away his judgment. 

Hill's score mounted till it reached and 
passed his. They were within twenty points 
of the end when Warden suddenly missed 
an easy stroke. A noisy groan broke from 
the onlookers, at which he shrugged his 
shoulders and laughed. But Hill turned 
upon him with a stern reproof. 

" You're playing the fool, Warden," he 
said. " Pull up ! " 

He spoke with curt command, and the 
man he addressed looked at him for a second 
with raised brows, as if he would take offence. 
But in a moment he laughed again. 

" You haven't beaten me yet, sir," he said. 

" No," said Hill. " And I don't value— 
an easy victory." 

There followed a tense silence while he 
resumed his play. Steadily his score mounted, 
and it seemed to Dot that there was hostility 
in the very atmosphere. She wondered what 
would happen if he scored the hundred before 
his opponent had another chance. She hoped 
he would not do so, and yet she did not want 
to see him beaten. 

He did not, but he left off with only three 
points to make. Then Warden began to 
score. Stroke after stroke he executed with 

Digitized by tjC 

flawless accuracy and with scarcely a pause, 
moving to and fro about the table without lift- 
ing his eyes from the balls. His play was swift 
and unswerving, his score mounted rapidly. 

Dot watched him spellbound, not breathing. 
Hill stood near her, also closely watching, 
with brows slightly drawn. Suddenly some- 
thing impelled her to look beyond the man 
at the table, and in the shadow on the farther 
side of the room she saw again Harley's face, 
grey, withered -looking, with sunken eyes 
that glared forth wolfishly. He was glancing 
ceaselessly from Hill to Warden and from 
Warden to Hill, and the malice of his glance 
shocked her inexpressibly. She had never 
before seen murderous hate so stamped upon 
any countenance. 

INSTINCTIVELY she shrank from the 
sight, and in that moment Warden's eyes 
were lifted for a second from the table. 
Magnetically hers flashed to meet them. It 
was instantstheous, inevitable as the sudden 
flare of lightning across a dark sky. 

He stooped again to play, but in that' 
moment something had gone out of him. 
The stroke he attempted was an easy one ; 
but he missed it hopelessly. 

He straightened himself up with a sharp 
gesture and looked at Hill. " I am sorry," 
he said. 

Hill said nothing whatever. Their scores 
were exactly even. With machine-like pre- 
cision he took his turn, utterly ignoring the 
grumbling criticisms of his adversary's play 
that were being freely expressed around the 
room. With the utmost steadiness he made 
his stroke, scoring two points. Then there 
fell a tremendous silence. The choice of two 
strokes now lay before him. One was to 
pocket his adversary's ball ; the other a long 
shot which required considerable skill. He 
chose the second without hesitation, hung a 
moment or two, made his stroke — and failed. 

A howl of delight went up from the, 
watchers, their hot partisanship of Warden 
amounting almost to open animosity against 
his opponent. In the midst of the noise 
Hill, perfectly calm, contemptuously in- 
different, touched Warden again upon the 
shoulder, and spoke to him. 

Warden said nothing in reply, but he went 
to his ball with a hint of savagery, bent, and 
almost ■ without aiming sent it at terrific 
speed up the table. It struck first the red, 
then the white, pocketed the former, and 
whizzed therefrom into the opposite pocket. 

A yell of delight went up. It was a brilliant 
stroke of which any player might have been 
proud. But Bill Warden flung down his 
cue with a gesture of disgust. 

" Damnation ! " he said, and turned to 
putonhiscoatj^| froni 

(To be «wrft«tifff|K'ERSltY OF MICHIGAN 



/ ty/ie "\ . 


(Joseph Gollomb 

Illustrated by E, I'erpilleux. 

SOME day a cold- blooded Izaak Walton 
will write a treatise on the complete 
art of man-hunting. The tracking by 
hoc iet y of the men who prey on Man 
is already something of a sport and some- 
times an art— in fiction. In real life it is a 
crusade, a science, a profession ; there is iin 
sporting ethics in it as yet p and police prefer 
the shortest way to the kill, whether it is 
good sport, art, or neither. But the quarry 
has grown clever with science and technique, 
And the hunter has had to keep up with him. 
The result is that so infinitely complex, 
delicate, and manifold have become the means 
and weapons of crime and of man-hunting 
with X-ray, dictaphone, micro- photography, 
c hemica 1 reagents , ps y c ho- a n a I ysis r orga n i - 
/at ion technique, card cataloguing, and 
ten thousand other devices, that the modern 
detective has come to exercise something 
of the care of the artist in choosing weapon 
and trail in his hunt. It is interesting to 
observe, therefore, the differences fn the 
manner of man-hunting shown by the 
detective systems of London, Paris, Berlin, 
and Vienna ; and how in- their hunting 
they reveal their racial traits. 

Let lis consider four actual cases. 


In a half-asleep residential section <.f 
East London there is a neglected three- 
storey private dwelling with heavy shutters 

and doors, inconspicuous and unattractive. 
It was just the kind of house for which an 
old man, who called himself Smithers, had 
been looking, For twenty years he had 
been accumulating money by buying all 
kinds of objects and no questions asked. 
He could drmi^il shrewd bargain, and his 


Joseph Gollomb 


business associates usually acceded to his 
terms, though not without many a curse 
and often more or less impressive^ threats. 
Smithers did not mind the former ; but 
as he grew more and more rich, he worried 
about the threats. He knew his customers. 
So he tried to hide his riches, lived penu- 
riously, whined about every penny, and, 
from assuming the miser, he. with the years 
became one. Fear of being murdered and 
robbed drove him from his business to a 
retreat. The house, by reason of its incon- 
spicuousness and strong doors and windows, 
attracted him and he bought it. 

He secured every possible entrance into 
the house with bars and double locks and, 
with an expensive knowledge of burglar 
alarms, he had his home wired so that 
nobody could touch a door-knob, window- 
sash, or grating without setting an electric 
bell ringing. In addition, he arranged it 
so that if anyone , detected the wiring and 
cut it, the loosened wire, dragged down by 
a leaden weight, would fall on a cartridge, 
and, exploding it, would give as effective 
notice of danger as the electric bell. He 
lived by himself, received no one, and 
attracted as little attention as he could. 

Nevertheless, oine day tradesmen began 
to wonder why he did not take in off the 
front steps the articles he had ordered to 
be delivered. The police were notified, 
an entrance was forced. Smithers was 
found murdered. The burglar alarm had 
been cut, and under the fallen leaden 
weight was found ^ac pad of cloth and the 
cartridge unexplodedir A strong box had 
been rifled. Whoever had done the business 
was no novice. There was not a finger- 
print to be found^tlie? work having obviously 
been done in gloves. The only clue left 
for the police to work on was a small dark 
lantern, a child's toy without a doubt, 
which had been left contemptuously behind 
by the burglars. 

SCOTLAND YARD went to work on the 
case. With only the child's lantern 
to work on as a clue to the murder 
mystery the problem became at first mere 
drudgery. A tedious round of manu- 
facturers and toy-shops followed, to deter- 
mine, if possible, where that lantern was 
bought. In this search team-work was 
everything, individual cleverness availed 
nothing. Finally it seemed probable that 
the lantern was such as a mother in one 
of many tenement districts in London would 
buy for a seven-year-old child to play with. 

Another council was held and a simple 
plan devised as the next phase of the hunt. 
A detective who had a seven-year-old son 
was assigned to an exceedingly easy task. 
He was told to allow his boy to play with 

the lantern in the streets of the quarter 
from which it may have come and to see 
what happened. For a week nothing at 
all happened, and father and son were asked 
to do the same in the adjoining district. 
Here the simple device brought no better 
results, and again they were assigned new 
territory. This happened several times, 
until it began to look as though nothing at 
all would come of it. 

But with the doggedness of the race, 
Scotland Yard hung on to the trail, if trail 
it was. Then one day a little boy of the 
quarter edged up to the policeman's son, 
looked sharply at the lantern with which 
the youngster was languidly playing, and 
set up a wail : — 

" I want my lantern ! " 

" 'Tain't your lantern ! " the detective's 
son retorted, indignantly. 

" Yes, it is. I know it is ! " 

The detective came forward. 

" Are you sure ? " he asked, gently. 
" Because my son has had it for many weeks, 
you know." 

" 'Ere, I'll prove it's mine," the strange 
boy said, " When my wick burned out 
I cut off a little piece of my sister's flannel 
petticoat for a new wick." 

The detective opened the lantern and, 
examining the wick, found it to be of flannel, 
as the boy had said. 

'* We'll have to ask your mother about 
this," the detective said. " If you're telling 
the truth you shall have your lantern 

The three went to the boy's mother, a 
widow, who kept lodgers. The woman, 
honest and hard-working, confirmed her 
son's claim. The detective kept his word, . 
returned the lantern, but questioning the 
widow further, found out that the boy 
missed the lantern at about the same time 
that two of her lodgers had left without 
paying their bills. One had told her that 
he was an electrician, the other a plumber's 
apprentice, and she remembered seeing tools 
of their trade, or what she thought were 
such, in their room. 

Then followed another series of weary 
searches by the men of Scotland Yard : 
searches among young plumbers and among 
electricians ; in the underworld for two 
young fellows answering to the descriptions 
the widow gave ; in the files of criminal 
records in Scotland Yard ; in more expensive 
lodging-houses, and in dance-resorts. Noth- 
ing short of a big organization imbued with 
team-work and bulldog perseverance could 
have accomplished that search. But at 
last two young men were found whom the 
widow, unknown to them, identified as 
her former lodgers. 

The police had; as yet nothing more serious 


Tracking Criminals 

against them than unpaid bills. So they 
secretly kept them under observation* 
It was thus they learned that the young men 
were fond of target -shooting with a revolver 
at trees in the country. The bullets ex- 
tracted from the trees proved to be of the 
same exceptionally large size as that found 
in the murdered miser's brain. 

Tactfully, patiently, a corps of detectives 
searched into the past of the two men, 
each finding out some seemingly unimportant 
item. But the whole was becoming a net 
in which one day the two men found them- 
selves inextricably fast on the charge of 
the murder and robbery of Smithers + 

How fast they were caught they did not 
know until the trial. Then the smaller 
of the two defendants, suddenly losing 
courage, cried out that he would turn King's 
evidence against his accomplice. Before 
he could blurt out another word the other 
leaped at his throat and almost succeeded in 
killing him before they could be separated. 

" I'll stand a free man and watch you 

hang, you I " the little man sobbed. 

M Listen to me, my Lord ! If you promise 
to let me go free " 

But he was gently informed that the 
case for the Crown needed no help from 
him— as it proved. 


Now let us contrast with this man-hunt 
another under similar circumstances in 
Paris. There had been a remarkable series 
of burglaries in the aristocratic Etoile 
section. In each case the burglar— for 
there was every sign that one man was com 
nutting them — took art objects of 
considerable value but never of such 
marked uniqueness that they could 
not be disposed of without difficulty 
or danger. Indeed, the man's skill in 
entering well -guarded homes, in gather- 
ing his loot, and in disposing of it was 
such that the Paris police had not a 
trace to work on. It goes without 
saying that this man, too, worked with 
gloves, so that there was never a finger- 
print left as a clue. 

The PpJ-is police, so to speak, ran 
round in circles trying to find 
his trail. One theory was as 
little fruitful as another, and 
each man on the hunt followed 
his own. One detective-inspector 
(let us call him Dornay) struck 
out on a lone hunt. Posing as 
a nouveau riche art-collector and 
bon xnvant, he made scores of 
acquaintances in the fast set 
where his quarry might con- 
ceivably be found. In this way M ' 1 want 
he became interested in a rather 

quiet, alert man who knew where good values 
in art objects could be had. Dornay showed 
more friendliness than the other accepted 
and, apparently hurt, the detective there- 
after avoided the unsociable man, whom he 
knew by the name of Laroche* 

Thus far Dornay had only a more or less 
nebulous theory about Laroche's connection 
with the elusive burglar he was bunting. 
It was so nebulous that the detective could 
not convince liis colleagues sufficiently to 
secure the number of men needed to keep 
track of all Laroche's movements. For 
the latter had an uncanny way of eluding 
Dornay fc s vigi lance > in spite of all that 
Dornay could do by himself to keep Laroche 
in sight, 

Thereupon Dornay determined to get 
Laroche unconsciously either to clear or 
to implicate himself. Wat clung one night 
outside Laroche's hotel, he saw the latter 
leave in evening dress. Dornay stole up 
to the man's room, let himself in with a 
skeleton key, and thoroughly searched. 
The only discoveries that interested him 
were a much-used pair of gloves, and the 
water carafe and drin king-glass Laroche 
kept on a little stand to the left of his bed. 

With a file, Dornay rubbed gently at 
a spot in the thumb of the left-hand glove 
until little more than a thin filament of 
chamois remained, which, however, would 
not be noticeable at a careless glance. Then 
the detective carefully polished clean the 
outsides of the carafe and the drinking- 

my lantern ! * . * 'Tain'l your lantern ! * the 

Original Tram* . r. f tl 



Then the 

Joseph Gollomb 


glass. He took nothing with him when 
he left. 

But next morning when Laroche again 
left the hotel, Dornay stole back into the 
room and eagerly examined the carafe and 
the d rin king-glass. With a camel J s-hair 
brush he dusted some graphite powder 
on it until Laroche's finger- prints showed 
clearly. Substituting other glassware. Dor- 
nay carefully brought Laroche's to police 

Three weeks later still another burglary 
was reported, bearing all the marks of the 
elusive burglar. But this time the police 
found faint impressions of a left thumb — 
and only that. However t it was sufficient. 
Dornay's instinct and little plot had won. 
As he knew, the moisture of the human ringer 
is sufficient to leave a print even through 
gloves if the intervening texture is thin. 
And the finger-prints on the scene of the 

detective's son refcorted, 
detective came 

retorted, indignantly. - Yes, it is 

latest burglary were identical with those 
on Laroche's carafe and drinking-glass. 

Call it Anglo-Saxon love of team-play, 
or a racial disinclination of the individual 
to shove himself forward at the expense 
of the group interest, or whatever other 
trait it illustrates, the Scotland Yard treat- 
ment of the Smithers murder mystery was 
characteristic. Certainly the instinct for 
organization and organized effort, which 
has made Scotland Yard the foremost 
man-hunting medium in the world, is the 
inspiration not of individuals but of the 
race. In contrast in method was the Paris 
police treatment of the Laroehe burglaries* 
The Frenchman is keenly individual in 
his work. It makes him less patient, there- 
fore less efficient in organization, and, 
consequently, throws him back again on 
individual effort. He is much more prone, 
as a detective, to hunt by himself than with 
his colleagues, 


Like the Anglo-Saxon gift for organization 
is the German passion for it + But there is 
a vital difference between the two in the 
nut i nine of the organization, a difference 
which is illustrated in the treat- 
ment by the Berlin detective 
force of a murder -mystery that 
occurred in that city several 
years ago. The undersecretary 
for one of the important 
governmental departments was 
found dead in an alley near 
his home in a Berlin suburb. 
He had evidently been seized 
from behind, garrotted until 
dead, dragged into the alley, and 
robbed. It was not till late the 
next day that his body was 
found ; no one had been seen 
lurking about the scene of the 
crime ; so that the police had 
practically nothing to work on, 
other than the manner of the 

But they have a machine in 
the Berlin police department 
that works almost automati- 
cally in the solution of such 
mysteries. It is typically a 
German product in the thorough- 
ness of its organization, in the 
ruthlessness of its operation, in 
the vastness and, at the same 
tirne t in the minuteness of its 
product. Its principal part is 
the Meldwesen. Every citizen 
and visitor in Germany f the 
former from the day of his or 
her birth, the latter from the 

UNIVBr^"Pti™tfllGM-J recorded at 



Tracking Criminals 

police headquarters, a card for each individual 
— and every card is kept up to date. If, 
for instance, the police want to know some- 
thing about Carl Schmidt, respectable citizen, 
in three minutes after his name reaches 
police headquarters they know the date, 
place, and circumstances of his birth, a 
brief history of each of his parents* — if 
German, a cross-reference to their individual 
cards will give a complete history ; his 
education, religion, successive residences, 
dates of removals, names of business and 
other associates — again cross-references afford 
fuller information on each of these ; name 
of his wife, date of marriage, names and 
other data of his children ; dates of the 
death of any of the family, place of burial ; 
names and histories of servants, employes, 
etc., etc. 

In the police headquarters at Berlin 
this Meidwesen department contains over 
twenty million cards to-day, occupies one 

hundred and fifty-eight rooms, requires 
two hundred and ninety employes — and is 
daily growing in size. The cards of names 
commencing with H alone take up ten 
rooms, S requiring seventeen rooms. 

If Carl Schmidt has a criminal record 
there is a wealth of additional data about 
him on the file, including photographs, 
finger-prints, liertillon data, and much 
information on his methods of crime, a list 
of accomplices and confederates, past and 
present, their personal relations to him 
other than in crime, etc., etc. 

WHAT happens to any individual in 
Germany who fails to register can 
be seen in the working of the Razzia 
system, which is used by the police of 
Germany as a complement to the Meld- 
we sen , and which the police of Berlin 
proceeded to use in the case of the 
strangled under-secretary on an unpre- 
cedented scale. The Razzia consists of 
police raids without warrants on gathering- 
places of every kind, and even on private 
dwellings. Every person caught in such a 
raid is required to give a complete account 
of himself or herself. This account is 
checked with the record in Meldwessn. If 
there is a discrepancy,, it means anything 
from a fine, for a first offence for failing to 
register, to prison if it is repeated. 

In this particular case the Berlin police 

raided " jungfernheide/' an amusement 

resort. Of the people there, three hundred 

could not give a clear account of discrepancies 

between their status then and what the 

Meld we sen showed. They were all arrested, 

and a minute investigation of each case 

begun. Out of the three hundred there 

were found sixty who were* 

"wanted" by the police of 

other cities for various 


At the same time that tliis 
lifting was going on a special 
4 ' murder commission, " which 
was appointed to deal only 
with this particular case, was 

The celebrated German poUce method ol * iweatmffp* or *&jf4ji|dkagM include* 

Joseph Gollomb 


proceeding with co-ordinating investigations. 
Such a commission, consisting of seven or 
eight men as a rule, but calling in as many 
others as necessary, usually includes three or 
four of the higher officials of the detective 
force t a police surgeon, a photographer, and 
one or two men from some highly -specialized 
detective staff. There are thirty -one such 
staffs, each sharply specialized, and its 
members practically never go outside their 

To the special commission in this case 
were added two members of a staff which 
specialized on highway robberies, and another 
detective who had made a study of str anglers. 
All these men went to work sifting out the 
small mountain of cards dealing with every 
individual who could even in the remotest 
way be suspected of a possible connection 
with the murder of Under-Secretary 
Rheinthal. Meanwhile forty-two individuals 
caught in the " Juiigfernheide " were waiting 
in prison, together with some other suspects, 
arrested without warrant or charge, 

THE residuum of aU this searching was 
that one of the young women detained 
was found to be the mistress of a man 
against whom there were recorded in the 
police departments of two cities three former 
highway robberies and a burglary in which 
the victim was found nearly dead of stran- 
gulation. Through the elaborate system of 
records of the man's accomplices, friends 
and family, each of whom were shadowed, 
the man was finaitv caught His attempt 
at alibi was quickly frus- 
trated by the MefdK-esen of 
another town— the system is 
uniform throughout .German y 
— where he said he was on 

the night of the murder. Once in the 
clutches of the police the celebrated German 
police method of "sweating/ 1 or " third de- 
gree/' which includes every possible means 
of coercion, pinned the man to the crime 
itself and he confessed. 

Clearly, then, what solved the Rheinthal 
mystery was a machine, which is what the 
German passion for organization produces, 
rather than a team, as in the case of Scotland 
Yard. With the Germans, organisation 
reduces its human element to cogs and parts 
of an automaton. In England it binds 
human beings into a group, which retains 
initiative on the part of the individual and 
adds to it the increased competence of 
the group. In France, organization is the 
minor fact, the individual is everything. 


In Vienna the detective system can draw 
on neither a people gifted with rcgirnentaJized 
efficiency! nor the individual efficiency of 
the Scotland Yard man or of the French 
detective. Yet the man-hunting done by 
the Vienna police equals in efficiency any 
other in Europe, For, in -the professorial 
chairs, the laboratories, and the research 

every pouible means of coercion, pinned the man to (hfll^fr^lT^if- Ml4 hhs*ftM eMC d." 


Tracking Criminals 

departments of Austrian universities man- 
hunting has attained its highest develop- 
ment. Whatever the explanation the fact 
is that in Vienna — which acts for all 
Austria — it is not organization or the 
individual detective or a marvellous machine 
that hunts the criminal most successfully, 
but modern science with its microscope, 
chemical reagents, the orderly processes of 
inductive reasoning, carried out for the most 
part by university professors, and only a 
minimum contribution on the part of the 
professional detective. 

LET us illustrate with the murder and 
robbery of a millionaire recluse who lived 
in a villa on the border of Wiener Wald. 
He was found dead in bis barn, his skull 
crushed in with some blunt instrument which 
could not be found. The only clue left by the 
murderer was an ordinary workman's cap. 

Dr. Gross in his celebrated work on 
criminal investigation, which is the most 
exhaustive study of the science of man- 
hunting in existence, stresses the importance 
of hairs and dust as clues. Tte inside of 
the cap, therefore, was carefully examined 
and two hairs found, which were not those 
of the murdered man. These hairs were 
placed under microscope examination, ex- 
perts called in, and the following was scien- 
tifically ascertained as the description of 
the man to whom those haif s belonged : — 

" Man about forty-five years old, robust 
constitution, turning bald, brown hair nearly 
grey and recently cut." 

The cap itself was placed in a tough paper 
bag, which was then sealed and beaten with 
a stick. When it was opened again there 
was dust at the bottom of the bag. This 
dust was microscopically examined and 
chemically analyzed. Disregarding the ele- 
ments that came obviously from the floor 
of the barn where the cap was found, it 
was discovered that there predominated 
wood-dust, such as is found in the shop of 
a carpenter ; also minute particles of glue. 
The combination pointed to a wood -joiner. 

There was such a man living near the 
scene of the crime, who also answered to the 
description derived from the two hairs, a 
man of morose temperament rendered des- 
perate by drink and poverty. A search of 
his premises for the instrument which might 
have caused the death of the murdered man 
yielded a hammer and two mortar pestles. 
The hammer with its octagonal nose was 
found incapable of inflicting the shape of 
the wound in the man's skull. The pestles 
fitted. There were two of them, an iron 
one rusted in spots and a polished brass one. 
The rust spots on the iron one were found 
on chemical analysis to be due to water. 
But under the metal polish of the brass 

pestle, when it was carefully scraped away, 
were found remnants of stains which on 
analysis and microscopic examination proved 
to be blood. By a system of reagents 
developed by Professor Uhlenhut, the blood 
was found to be that of the murdered man. 
After the investigation had proceeded a 
little further the murderer broke down and 
confessed his guilt. 

Nothing is too small or insignificant to 
furnish clues to the Vienna school of labora- 
tory detectives. The marks of teeth on a 
cigar-holder left on the scene of the murder 
were found to indicate unusually long canines, 
a clue which led to the murderer. The 
dust found in pocket-knives or clasp-knives 
with which crimes had been committed 
brought many criminals to justice wholly 
through laboratory methods. Through the 
chemical reagents developed by Professor 
Uhlenhut, blood-stains, not only of human 
beings, but even of animals, can be differ- 
entiated. Nor are these delicate tests used 
only in important cases. In accordance 
with recent food regulations in Austria, 
farmers were for a time forbidden to kill 
young calves and pigs. When Government 
agents found some farmers with blood- 
stains on their aprons and suspected them 
of having violated food regulations, the 
farmers denied the charges by insisting 
that the stains were of the blood of animals 
the law permitted them to slaughter. In 
every such case. Professor Uhlenhut's re- 
agent was employed, and infallibly brought 
out the truth. 

AS the criminal becomes more and more 
international in his operations, more 
and more cosmopolitan in his knowledge 
of the ways of man-hunters, so the latter, too, 
are forced to become broader in their hunt- 
ing methods. The science and some of the 
organization technique of the Austrians and 
the Germans are being added to the equip- 
ment of Scotland Yard. Republican Ger- 
many, on the other hand, is modifying some 
of the autocratic police abuses established by 
an imperial rlgime. Paris police are working 
in close harmony with ScotlanJ Yard and 
are assimilating from them some of the 
lessons of team work. Vienna is borrowing 
German organization and Scotland Yard 
emphasis on the selection of the raw material 
of its detective force, and has surpassed 
Scotland Yard in the educational training it 
now gives its operatives. Some day there 
may even come true the dream of several 
visionaries among police chiefs, that in the 
Hague or in some other city there will soon 
be an international police headquarters from 
which man-hunting in Europe will proceed 
on an international scope and with the 
combined skill of all the nations. 


a D 

THERE'S about 
forty-seven dif- 
ferent ways of 
gettin' into 
debt, but only the one 
way of gettin' out of it, 
as far as I ever heard. 
Matthew Savage had 
thried the most of the 
forty-seven in his time, an' 
done well . at them all, him 
havin' a wife an' seven small 
childher to help him at it ; an' 
then instead of puttin' his nose 
down to the grindstone an 1 takin' 
the one way, out, here doesn't he turn 
to lame Arthur M'Craw, the moneylender. 

Now Matthew would ha' knowed the sort 
of M'Craw as well as the rest of us, an' would 
never ha' got bogged with him the way he 
did but for a piece of what looked like good 
luck, an' turned out to be bad. 

I suppose just to balance the long head he 
had on him, Arthur, as he grew older, was 
afflicted with a very uncertain kind of a 
heart, an* likely havin' a notion that he 
mightn't dajiist as well in the next world as 
he'd done in this one,, he used to get very 
frightened when anything went wrong with 
the heart, an' a deal softer with his clients 
— rtill the attack was over. I've heard of 
him takin' as low as twenty per cent, at a 
settlement afther a bad turn of palpitation. 
Matthew Savage, bein' in a by-ordinary hole 
for twenty pounds, years before, had bor- 
rowed off Arthur ; an' Arthur havin' a bad 
turn of the heart at the time had treated 
him extra well. From that on Matthew 
would hear no harm of M'Craw ; an' when 
the shop-keepers began to press him out- 
rageous he turned to Arthur again. 

But Matthew hadn't much hope of Arthur, 
all the same ; for it was a bigger thing he 
wanted this time ; an' besides, there was a 
queer kink in him that always stood again 
him borrowin'. 

"I'll sign no law papers," he'd still say. 
" My father was near ruined over a law paper 
he signed. Ye'll » have to take an honest 
man's word." 

Many a man did, too, .for an honest poor 

a a 

fellow Matthew was ; but 
it was hardly to be ex- 
pected of Arthur M'Craw. 
But, lo an' behold ye, 
here doesn't he throw out 
to Matthew every penny 
he wanted, an' never 
asked the scrape of a pen. 
Now that looks queer ; 
but it wasn't, an' ye'll see 
why presently. 
Ye must know that Arthur's 
land marched with Matthew's, 
an' their two houses were undher 
the one roof. They used to be the 
double gate-house on the Carr demesne, 
before horse-racin' broke the family an' the 
estate was sold. Queer old-fashioned houses 
they were, with high tiled roofs, an' wee 
diamond-paned windows, an' big hearths ye 
could burn a tree in. The two together 
would make one grand house, an' the two 
farms one great farm ; an' there was Arthur's 
notion in lendin' poor Savage on the terms 
he did. He lent him, an' he lent him, till 
Matthew had a hundhred an' fifty pounds 
from him, an' accordin' to Arthur there was 
another hundhred an' fifty due for intherest 
— an' then he lit on him ! If Mr. Savage 
didn't find it convenient to pay, Mr. Savage 
must give a mortgage for three hundhred. 

It fair knocked the wind out of Matthew. 
He come up to me that night — a dirty 
November * night it was — an' told me the 
whole story. 

" Do ye mean to tell me," sez I, " that 
Arthur has nothin' to show for all he has 
lent ye ? " 

" Not a line," sez Matthew. " Only my 
bare word. I wouldn't ha' took the money 
but for that." 

" I see," sez I. " Arthur's cute ; there's 
no doubt he's cute — but he's been too cute 
this time, an' now ye have him. Give him 
no mortgage, an' give him only the bare 
money ye got off him, an' that in your own 
good time. He can't lay a finger on ye if ye 
never give him nothin'." 

But Matthew cried out again this alto- 
gether. He'd pay the last penny should 

he w ^V-felff^*H^N bone - Bl,t a 

6 4 

Santa Claus 

mortgage he would not give ; no, he would 
not ; that he was determined on. 

I spoke again mortgages very bitther 
myself; an' he agreed with every word I 
said. Away he went in the pourin' rain — 
an' caught a cold that hung on him an' 
turned to peumonia an' killed him. A week 
afther the funeral I made an excuse down to 
Mrs. Savage's with a bit of berried holly for 
the childher, meanin' to put her up to payin' 
Arthur nothin' at all ; an' would ye believe 
it, but Matthew had given him a mortgage 
two days before he lay down. 

" Are ye sure he did give the mortgage ? " 
sez I, " an' that Arthur's not makin' up a 
story ? " 

" I seen it," sez she. "'I seen it with my 
own eyes. Arthur was in about it last night. 
He wouldn't let it out of his hands, but he 
let me read it over his shouldher. It was 
dhrew up by Fitzsimmons, the lawyer, for I 
seen his name on it. An' it's for three hun- 
dhred pounds — three hundhred pounds, an' 
my man never had the half of it from him. 
Oh I Pat, Pat ! Seven wee fatherless chil- 
dher, an' nothin' for us but the roadside ! " 

" He's for puttin' ye out, then ? " sez I. 

" He'll let me have another hundhred if I 
give him quiet possession," sez she ; " an' 
that's the best he'll do, though I went down 
on my bended knees to him last night. Oh 1 
what'U become of us at all, at all t " 

" Do nothin' till ye hear from me," sez I, 
risin' to go. " I'll step in to Mr. Anthony, 
the solicitor, an' hear what he has to say. 
Don't be uneasy, now. He'll not charge ye 
anythin'." An' I knew he wouldn't ; for 
Mr. Anthony was a hot-headed wee body, 
but there wasn't a mean dhrop in him. 

I TOLD Mr. Anthony the whole story the 
next day in his own office in Ballygullion, 
an' then sat back in my chair to listen 
to him cursin' Arthur. For Mr. Anthony 
was inclined to swear a bit when he got 
wound up. 

But the boot was on the other foot, if ye 
please. A lawyer's notion of things is very 
different from anybody else's. He cursed 
Matthew for a fool for I suppose five minutes, 
an' then he spent another five minutes 
admirin' Arthur's cleverness. 

" He'd have made a great solicitor, that 
man," sez he. " Blast me, Pat, but there's 
a good deal stupider men on the Bench. An' 
do you mark the way he led poor Savage on, 
tradin' on his honesty ? I know somethin' 
of human nature, mind ye, an' I'm a child to 
him, begad, a child. An' then when he gets 
the man far enough in, he nails him with a 
mortgage. Beautiful ! He deserves to get 
the place, confound me if he doesn't! It 
would be a shame to keep him out of it." 

" If that's the way of it, I'll not ask ye to 

intherfere, Mr. Anthony," sez I, a bit short. 
For I was vexed with him. 

" Sit down now, ye old fool," sez he. " I've 
just been lookin' at the matther in a pro- 
fessional way. An' say what you like, it's a 
neat bit of work. We'll come down to busi- 
ness now. Does the widow want to engage 

" She does, Mr. Anthony," sez I. " But 
she doesn't want to pay ye." 

" There's deuced little business about that, 
Pat," sez he. " Well, well, thrade.has been 
good lately, but dull ; not even a breach of 
promise case to liven things up a bit. An' 
I'll maybe knock some fun out of Arthur. 
Ye say the mortgage is good ? " 

" I think so," sez I. " Fitzsimmons dhrew 

" It'll be all right an' tight, then," sez 
Mr. Anthony. " There's only one other man 
in Ballygullion can dhraft a deed betther 
than the same Fitzsimmons. She'll have to 
pay or go out." 

" She can't pay, I tell ye. Mr. Anthony," 
sez I. " But should she go out or be put 
out ? That's what I want to know." 

" She'd betther go out on the terms Arthur 
is offering," sez he. " She'd get no such 
terms if the land didn't he alongside his. If 
he has to put her out she'll have little or 
nothing left. There'd be some rascal of an 
auctioneer to pay — I wish my father had 
made me an auctioneer — an' a few triflin' 
legal expenses. Wait now, Pat. Hasn't she 
well-to-do friends ? Wouldn't they lend her 
the money ? " 

" The most they'll promise among them is 
a hundhred," sez I. " They were in with 
Matthew before, an' glad to get out." 

"Well, couldn't she pay tfce other two 
hundhred ? " sez Mr. Anthony, " an' cleat 
off the mortgage ? " 

" She could not. Mr. Anthony," sez I. 
" The woman's penniless. She hasn't ' as 
much in the house this minit as'U buy the 
childher a Christmas puddin'." 

" Lord bless us, Pat ! " sez Mr. Anthony, 
all in a flusther. " Is it as bad as that ? 
Are there many of them ? " 

" Only seven," sez I. 

" Well, well ! " sez Mr. Anthony, rumplin' 
up his hair with his hands. " An' me as old 
a man as Matthew, an' not even married yet. 
It's a shame, Pat ; blast me, but it's a 
shame. They'll have their Christmas pud- 
din', an' they'll have Christmas presents, 
every one of them. Wait now ! Begad. I've 
a notion. I'll get a false face an' go out an' 
do Father Christmas for them, an' I can have 
a chat with Mrs. Matthew aftherwards. Did 
ye ever see me actin', Pat ? I'm good at it. 
mind ye. There's times I think I'd ha' made 
a name for myself 0^1 the stage. Come back 

** TNIfBSfWF SfciKMr the tbiati 

Lynn Doyle 

bought an' go out there with ye. 
Don't be late. Ill close the office 
at four," 

An' out he pushes me, as pleased 
as Punch, the way he always was 
whenever he seen some chance of 
ma kin* a fool of himself, I was 
pleased myself, too ; for Mr. Anthony 
was a warm-hearted wee fellow, an' 
a good friend \ an* I knowed 
if he once got keen on 
the child her he'd 
fight for them 
like a badger 

A* the old woman 

turned the corner vi 
the stairs, out he 
slept. It was too 
much for the old 
woman. She just 
gave one screech an' 
sat down,*' 

When I went hack for him he was standi n* 
in the hall wait in* for mc, with a big parcel 
in his hand, t 

"Look at this,'* sea he, layin* down the 
parcel an 1 whippin' out a very wicked -loo kin J 
false face, an* clappin* it on his face, " What 
do you think of it, Pat ? " sez he, "It's 

Vol, Ui.-5. 

hardly as pleasant a one as I'd like ; but 
there has been a run on false faces, an' it 
was the best I could do/' 

11 You'll frighten the childher to death, 
Mr. Anthony/' sez I. " That's all," 

•• Not a bit oi me." sez he. ' When I 
put out my tongue it changes the whole 



Santa Claus 

expression. Hold on ! " sez he, as there came 
a clatterin' down the stairs. " Here's the 
old charwoman. I'll thry it on her." An' 
just as the old woman turned the corner of 
the stairs, out he steps into the light of the 
landin' lamp. 

" Ha, ha ! " sez he, in a big deep voice 
away down in his chest, throwin' out one 
hand an' stampin' with his foot. In troth 
he wasn't bad. I've seen men in Pepper's 
Ghost do it a deal worse. But it was too 
much for the old woman. She just give one 
screech an' sat down. The bucket of wather 
in her hand leapt down the stairs three steps 
at a time, lit on the hall flags with a desperate 
blatther, an' poured itself about Mr. An- 
thony's legs as high as the ankles. I just 
lifted the parcel off the ground in time. 

Mr. Anthony dashed out into the sthreet 
in a flash an' pulled off the false face. 

" Did she know who it was, Pat ? " sez he, 
very anxious-lookin'. 

" How would she," sez I, " an' that thing 
over your face ? " 

" That's a good job," sez he, lookin' 
relieved. " She'd never have had any re- 
spect for me again ; an' I couldn't have 
raised her wages less than half a crown a 
week. The parcel ! " sez he, stoppin' short. 

" I have it here," sez I. " It's quite safe." 

" Did the water get at it ?" sez he. 

" Not a dhrop," sez I. 

" Come on," sez he. " That's all right. 
The currants an' raisins would ha' stood it 
all right, but it would ha' played the deuce 
with the soft sugar. Be careful how ye 
handle that parcel, Pat. There's a half-pint 
of whisky in it. No, wait now — it's in the tail 
pocket of my coat. I gave that old fool a 
bit of a fright, I doubt. Never mind ; I can 
always sack the office boy for doin' it. Don't 
say a word to me now for a while. There's 
two or three bits of rhymes I've made up, an' 
I want to be sure I have them off." 

I COULD hear him muttherin' to himself 
as he walked along; an' every now an' 
then he'd give a snirt of a laugh. 

" It'll be good this, Pat," sez he ; " damme, 
it'll be good ! The children'll like it. You'll 
like it yourself. I wish I'd had a bit more 
time. I could have more verses made up, 
an' have dhressed myself right." 

" Now, ye'U be just grand, Mr. Anthony," 
sez I, buttherin' him. 

" I'll not be bad, now, Pat," sez he, " will 
I ? But I could make improvements. Let 
me think a minit. Tell me, Pat," sez he, all 
excited, " isn't there big, old-fashioned chim- 
neys in the Can* gatehouse cottages ? " 

" Aye, as big as would do a facthory boiler," 
sez I. " But what about it ? " 

" Couldn't I go down it," sez he, " like 
the real Santa Claus ? It would just crown 

the whole thing. An' the children would 
love it." 

" They would," sez I, " afther they had 
come out of the convulsions." 

" Aye," sez he, "I never thought of that." 

" By the time ye have seven of your own 
these things'll begin to occur to ye, Mr. 
Anthony," sez I ; "or it'll not be your wife's 
fault if they don't, any way." 

" It's a pity, too," sez he. I could tell by 
his voice he was all disappointed. " Couldn't 
we tell the mother to warn them ? " sez he, 
perkin' up. 

" It wouldn't make a bit of differs," sez I. 
" By the time ye had rasped your face down 
fifteen feet of a sooty chimney ye'd be 
lookin' a deal liker the divil than Santy 

" That's right," sez he, " that's right ; an' 
besides, it would play puck with the false 
face. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll 
lower the parcel down the chimney, an' then 
I'll come in by the front door an' tell them 
they should have had the chimney swept for 
me. That's a good notion, Pat," sez he. 
" Eh ? I mayn't have any of my own, but 
what I don't know about children isn't worth 
talkin' about. Now don't say another word. 
That's what we'll do. You go in an' prepare 
Mrs. Matthew." 

" They'll hear us on the roof," sez I — 
though I knowed I was only wastin' my 

" Let them," sez Mr. Anthony. " They'll 
think it's reindeer." 

" They'll think it's a Clydesdale horse," 
sez I, " an' me with my workin' boots on," 

" You'll not need to come on the roof," 
sez he. " I can manage by myself." 

" Troth, an' ye won't," sez I. "I'm not 
goin' to run the risk of havin' the only 
decent solicitor in Ballvgullion breakin' his 

" That's right, Pat," sez Mr. Anthony, all 
pleased. " That's right. I would be missed, 
I believe. Away in, now," sez he, "an' 
warn Mrs. Matthew. I'll be tyin' on the 
false face." 

SO in I goes an' tells Mrs. Matthew the 
piece ; an' troth, though she was in poor 
enough heart, as ye may guess, the notion 
of it made her laugh, an' she promised to 
warn all the young ones that wasn't in their 
beds, an' told me where to find a laddher, 
an' a rope to lower the parcel with. 

" Come on, now, Mr. Anthony," sez I, 
puttin* the laddher again the wall afther I 
had the parcel tied to the rope. " An' do 
vou hold mv coat-tails when I'm lowerin' 

" Xo," sez he, " I'll go first an' carry the 
parcel. I've a ftreat head on a high place." 
An' up the laddher he goes. 

Lynn Doyle 


" What's holdin' me, Pat ? " sez he, 
stoppin' about the second step. " Am I 
caught in a nail? No," sez he; "I'm 
standin' on my overcoat. Wait till I throw 
this cursed thing off. Come on." 

" For Heaven's sake, Mr. Anthony," sez 
I to him when we got to the roof, " don't 
thry to walk along the ridge tiles ! Sit down 
an' slither along." 

" I suppose I'd betther," sez he. " I 
could walk it, mind ye, but for the parcel. 
An' if I was sure my glasses would stay on 
my nose in this wind I could walk it any way*" 

" Now slither," sez I. " It'll be safer." 
But even as it was I was holdin' my breath 
till we were safe at the chimney. 

" Lower away now," sez I, in a whisper, 
" an' keep to this side, or Arthur M'Craw'll 
have the eatin' of the puddin'." 

" How ? " sez he. " Is there no division ? " 

" Not till near the bottom," sez I. 

" I'll stand on the copin', then," sez he, 
" to make sure." An' before I could catch 
him he had speeled up. 

" Come down out of that, Mr. Anthony," 
sez I ; for the wits was near frightened out 
of me. I could just make him out again 
the sky, perched there like a swallow on a 
telegraph wire. " Ye'll break your neck, I 
tell ye." 

" Blethers ! " sez he. " Gimme the parcel. 
Shure I could walk round the edge of a mill 
chimley." An' with th&t a brick turns 
undher his foot an' he disappears with a yell. 

" Holy angels ! " sez I to myself, " he'll be 
desthroyed ! " An' away I goes slitherin' 
along to the laddher, thin kin' in all the 
confusion how well it was I'd told Mrs. 
Matthew to damp down the fire. 

I DASHED into the kitchen with my heart 
jumpin' out of my mouth, thinkin* to 
find Mr. Anthony with not less than a 
broken leg, an' the childher in hysterics, an' 
behold ye they were all sittin' round the 
fire an' not a sign of him at all ! 

" What's wrong ? " sez Mrs. Matthew, 
leppin' up, all scared. 

" He's fell down ! " sez I. " He's stuck in 
the chimley ! Wait till I look." But when 
I put in my head an' looked up, I could 
see a glimmer of sky, an' there it come on 
me in a flash. 

" He's gone into Arthur's ! " sez I, dhrawin' 
back an' gapin' at Mrs. Matthew. " What's 
to be done ? Is Arthur at home ? Could 
we break the door ? " 

" Arthur's in," sez she. " Run yourself. 
I would not go near him for ten pound." 

Out I goes, an' to Arthur's door. The 
latch lifted an' in I went. There was only 
one bit of a candle burnin', but I could see 
ould Arthur lyin' on the floor, an' what was 
left of Mr. Anthony bendin' over him. 

There was more of Mr. Anthony left than 
ye'd have expected. The nose of the false 
face had gone, an' one sleeve of his jacket, 
an' if the back of his breeches was as far 
gone as the front he was in no great trim to 
go to a party ; but I could tell by him there 
was no bones broke. . 

" Hush ! " sez he, as I went to speak ; 
" he's comin' round. Out wi' ye r Pat." 
An' he pulled me out an' closed the door. 

" Are ye anythin' the worse, Mr. 
Anthony ? " sez I. " No ? Well, ye might 
ha' been killed, that's all. I told ye what 
would happen." 

"Happen," sez he, "happen? Did you 
not see that I did it on purpose ? " 

" On purpose I " sez I. For I could not 
hold my tongue in the f&ce of that. 

" To be sure," sez he, never turnin' a hair. 
" It was you talkin' of the danger of goin' 
to Arthur's side that put it in my head. I 
thought* I'd give old Arthur a fright." 

" Aye, well, ye did that," sez I. 

" I did," sez he. " An' he give me one. 
too. I thought he was gone. If I hadn't 
seen his bottle of drops on the dresser an' 
pushed a dose into him, he was away. But 
I think he's all right. Look in, Pat." 

I looked, an' there was Arthur dotterin* 
round the kitchen, very feeble, searchin' for 
somethin' on the floor. 

" That's all right," sez Mr. Anthony, when 
I told him. " He'll do now." An' then he 
begins to dance round an' laugh. " He took 
me for the divil,''' sez he. "I landed right 
in the middle of the fire ! It's well he's a 
miser, or I'd been cremated. The half-pint 
broke on the way down, an' the blue flames 
was whiffin' round me as if I was a plum- 
puddin'. It's no wondher Arthur was scared . 
I must have looked very like the real thing. 
It's the best bit of actin' ever I did in mv 

" What did he do, Mr. Anthony ? " sez I, 
chucklin' to myself. For, troth, I was no 
way sorry for the old villain. 

" He just let two prayers an' a yell out 
of him, an' dropped," sez Mr. Anthony. 
" It's a good job I saw the medicine," sez 
he, soberin' down a bit. " But never mind. 
All's well that ends well. It was a great 
thought, Pat, wasn't it ? I have a head on 
me. It's well ye thought of gettin' me into 
this case." 

" I don't see what good this'll do in the 
case," sez I. 

" Do ye not, ye old dunderhead ? " sez 
he, in great heart. " Listen, then. I'm 
goin' in to Arthur in about five minutes as 
Mrs. Matthew's solicithor to make a settle- 
ment, an' with the fright he's got, an' his 
heart fluttherin' like a bird in a basket, it'll 
be a queer tMng if I don't cut him down 
half ; 3,n ' if her friends won't lend her that 


Santa Claus 

much I'll do it myself. It's a great scheme," 
sez he, " to be planned out all in a second 
on the top of a chimley." An' upon my 
soul, by this time I think he believed it. 

" Ye'll not make much of him," sez I. 
" He'll think the whole thing was a dhream. 
The divil doesn't go about these times, the 
way he used to." 

" Does he not ? " sez he. " Well, he was 
there to-night, any way, an' brought this 
away with him." And he pulls a paper out 
of his pocket an' shoves it into my face. 
" The mortgage," sez he ; " Arthur was 
readin' it when he fell." 

" That's dangerous, Mr. Anthony," sez I, 
lookin' at him a bit scared* 

" Blethers ! " sez he, but I could tell by 
his voice he was vfery much of the same 
opinion. " Any way, I'll have to go through 
with it now. Come into Mrs. Matthew's till 
I get myself straited up." 

" Ye can't go in with them trousers on 
ye," sez I, sthrikin' a match. 

" I suppose I couldn't," sez he. " Never 
mind. I'll put oh my overcoat. Bring me 
some water out to the yard, till I wash my 
hands. My face is all right, I think," sez 
he, feelin' the end of his nose, a bit gingerly. 
" Tell Mrs. Matthew to put the childher to 
bed, an' say I'll be in presently with news. 
An', Pat," sez he, " fetch a candle to the 
stable till I read this document. Blast it! 
I wish I had left it alone ! It was the one 
oversight In a great 1 platr." 

But when I went back to him in the stabla 
he was as full of himself again as ever. 

" Come you in to Arthur's when you hear 
me knoclrin' on the wall," sez he, "an' 
you'll witness the overthrow of that old 
grabber. He's cute — he's cute ; but he 
hasn't a chance with me. Damme," sez he, 
" when my brain's in good order I could 
bamboozle Napoleon ! " An' away he goes. 

I COULDN'T tell ye how long it was till 
he knocked, I was that busy tellin' Mrs. 
Matthew lies; for I couldn't satisfy her; 
but at last the knock came. When I went in 
Arthur was sittin' at the tabled very white 
an' shook-lookin', an' Mr. Anthony on the 
other side of it with a paper in front of him. 
" Pat," sez Mr. Anthony, " I want you 
to witness this document, an' a very credit- 
able document to Mr. M'Craw it is. It has 
come into his head that he's been a bit hard 
on Mrs. Savage, an' mightn't have luck with 
it, an' he's releasing her for oite hundred 
an' fifty pounds, just the actual amount he 
says he lent her husband, an' maldn' her a 
present of all costs an' interest. They came 
to another one hundred an' fifty pounds, an' 
Mr. Savage had given Mr. M'Craw a mortgage 
for three hundred. Just at the moment 
Mr. M'Craw can't lav his hands on the 

mortgage, but we'll not press for that as he 
is acting so generously." 

" He's actin' well," sez I ; " an' a blessin'll 
follow him — I hope if 11 be a long while 
catchin' up with him," I put in undher mv 
breath. " Where'll I sign, Mr. Anthony ? " 

" Wait a second," sez Mr. Anthony, " Mr. 
M' Craw must sign first . You 're satisfied with 
the document, Mr. M'Craw ? " 

" Reach me them drops," whispers Arthur. 
" Yes, I'm satisfied," sez he, puttin' down 
the glass, an' breakin' into a kind of a whine, 
" an* I think I'm actin' like a Christian an' 
a neighbour. I hope people will give in to 
that ; for it's at a heavy cost, But we must 
be Christians ; for who can tell when his 
hour will come ? " . . 

" That's right," sez Mr. Anthony. " Sign 
here. Wait a minit, there's a mistake — 
there's a mistake in this. The date of the 
missing mortgage is the first of December, 
not the fifteenth." 

" Ye wee idiot ! " sez I to meself. 

I was right, too. Arthur jumps to his 
feet as if he had the heart of a bullock. 

" How do you know that ? " sez he, lookin* 
hard at Mr. Anthony. " What ! " he screams. 
" It was you ! I know ye now ; it waa you. 
trickin' me an' humbuggin' me, was it ? 
But you'll pay, an' your client '11 pay. I'll 
disbar ye, for theft an' fraud, ye murdherer ! 
Ye near killed me, an' ye would rob me, too. 
An* your client'll pay down three hundred 
pounds an' costs, or go. But first of all 111 
deal with you." 

He takes a gulp at the dhrops again, an' 
sits down fair foamin' at the mouth. An' as 
for me, I was that vexed at Mr. Anthony that 
I could ha' kicked him round the kitchen. 

But Mr. Anthonv was as cool as a cucumber. 

" Don't get excited, Mr. M'Craw," sez he. 
"I'vfcdone nothing unprofessional. "( "You've 
a cheek on ye ! " thinks I.) " I merely took 
a favourable opportunity of examining a 
vital document in the case. You can have 
it back ; or, better still, I'll hand it to your 
solicitor. I'll not lose it, you may be sure, 
seein' it's all you have to show for the money 
you allege you lent to Matthew Savage. 
An' I'm done with it," sez he ; " for I've 
read it from date to signature." Arthur 
never answered a word, but sat there lookin' 
very hard at him. " Come, now," sez Mr. 
Anthony, pushin* forward the agreement, 
" sign this, an' don't spoil a generous action 
by a little useless ill-temper." 

" Ye may save vour breath thrvin' to bluff 
Arthur," thinks I. " He has you, an' he'll 
salt you. An' ye had the whole thing your 
own way, if ye'd kept your silly mouth shut." 

Ye could ha' tied me with a straw when I 
seen Arthur talrin' up the pen like a lamb 
an* signin'. I rear spitted the ink-botth-. I 
was that keen to ^^pSJlfl-lirftN 

Lynn Doyle 

What ! ' he screams, ' It 
was you 1 I know ye now ; it 
was you, trickin* me an' hum- 
buggin' me, waa it ? 

"Good night, Mr. M'Craw/' sez 

Mr. Anthony, gettin' on his feet an 1 

puttin' the agreement in his pocket, 

' The hundhred an 1 fifty pounds 11 be 

paid over to your solicitor/' 

But Arthur never looked up. 

I was still half-dazed when we got out, 

" In the name of all that's queer/' 
sez I f " will ye tell me, Mr. Anthony, 
why Arthur gave in when he had you in 
his hands ? " 

" I'll tell you why/' sez Mr, Anthony. 
" Ye said this afthernoon that Matthew 
Savage always swore he'd never sign a 
mortgage. Well, he kept his word. The 
mortgage is a very nice mortgage, an' a 
credit to the lawyer that drew it. Except 
here an' there, I could hardly improve on 
it myself. But there's one thriflin" flaw in 
it, Pat, It isn't signed f 

" I knew it/* sez Mr. Anthony, dancin* 
round like a tin toy. "I knew Matthew had 
refused to sign at the last mi nit, I felt it 
in my bones. It flashed over me as I climbed 
up on the chimlcy. Damme/' sez he, 4i I'll 
have a wee chimley built in my own back 
yard, an* walk round it whenever I meet a 
knotty case ! Come on, till we tell Mrs. 
Matt/' . 

But I could onlv stand still an' look at 


7 o 

^Different -Slops 



With a 
Sketch b$ 

T. P. 


whose name has 
been so much 
before the public 
recent! y f has a presence* 
More than six feet high, 
with the broad shoulders uf a Hercules 
and something of the grace of an Apollo, 
with a long face with pronounced features, 
a large nosc\ large eyes, well chiselled and 
mobile lips, he might well claim to be one 
of the handsomest men of the Bar — and 
the Bar does not consist entirely, as 
writers of fiction, from Dickens downwards, 
suggest, of skeletons with pallid faces and 
owl -like eyes. 

He is the athlete he Jooks, His golf is 
superb ; 1 lie lie ve his cricket and his 
tennis and his shooting are also excellent; 
hut I * ;iii only *pcak of hifi goU from 
personal experience. What ip— the s« - n I 
of the stnm^©jgrtJ<ie<HlfeV 

AGE 4. 

^jQoalxiil fror 


Sir Edward Marshall- Hall, K.C. 


feeling there is about him ? He has 
great courage, vehement zeal, a re- 
sounding and often touching eloquence 
— 1 thought his use of the quotation 
from "Othello" in his speech for Mr. 
Greenwood was wonderfully touching. 
But very sober people sometimes shake 
their heads and black - letter lawyers 
purse their lips now and then when 
his name is mentioned. Is it because 
he has the defects of his fiery qualities 
and of his hot tongue, and that he 
cannot brook easily pompous interrup- 
tions by staid judges ? I suspect there 
must be a drop of Irish somewhere 
in a temperament so ebullient and a 
temper so susceptibly Anyhow, if I 
wanted to be defended from murder, 
he's the advocate I'd choose ! 

1 may say that if he were not a 
barrister he might have made a 
fortune as an art dealer. He 
knnws all about all sorts of 

age 20 

i'k pip Hunch**. 

jfiitiogkfc **%w 

collecting — old silver, pic- 
tures, ivories, etc. And if 
he hadn't been a lawyer and 
a collector, he might have 
made a great doctor. That 
is always one of his strong 
points when he is in a 
poison case. He has studied 
medicine profoundly, which 
indeed is natural for his 
father was a doctor in 
Brighton with a big prac- 
tice, and that brilliant and 
receptive young son of his 
took in from his lips much 
of the medical lore which 
has stood him in such good 
stead Marshall-Hall ma kes 
enemies, I dare say — most 
strong temperaments do — 
but lie makes warm friends 
igirr^frdYft " 1 lm S l *& to be 









i H E man 
looked up 
as the 
parted, and a giri 
stepped into the 
little glade. A 
glint of sunshine 
just caught her 
face and hair as 
she stood, watch- 
ing him with a 
slight frown, and 
instinctively he 
took off his hat. 
Below them a 
brook gurgled and 
bubbled its cheer- 
ful way through 
the heat of the 
summer after- 
noon ; above their 
heads a blackbird 
was pouring out 
his song ecstatic- 
ally. And in the 
3 lade itself was the 
a w k ward si lence 
of two unintro- 
duced humans, 
who have met in 
such circum- 
stances as render 
silence foolish. 

The glade was 
fax away from the 
beaten track, and 
the man had wan- 
dered there aim- 
lessly that after- 
noon* He had an 

' 1 hope Vm not trespassing, 1 he remarked. ' Unless you're 

^*UVERSITYdi^l?ffilG^ "^ '" 

Copyright! iqjt, by K. C. Mc> 

H, C. McNeile ("Sapper") 


uncomfortable feeling that he had passed 

at least two notice-boards stating that 
" Trespassers will be prosecuted/' Hut the 
coolness of the woods had lured him on, and 
then he had come to the stream and followed 
it. It had led him to the glade — just a little 
clearing in the heart of the big trees — with 
thick undergrowth screening it from outside 
view + And there he had lit his pipe and 
endeavoured to concentrate on the destiny 
of his hero and heroine, who, at the moment, 
refused point-blank to behave as he con- 
sidered a well- written hero and heroine 
should behave. 

The glade had not helped him. First a 
rabbit had appeared on the scene and 
contemplated him gravely ; and then the 
blackbird — or was it a thrush ? — had com- 
menced its song. It struck him with a feeling 

blind, she answered, uncompromisingly, 
stiff with notice-boards/ " 

akin to surprise that a man, acknowledged 
by all the critics to be one of the cleverest 
of the younger generation of authors, should 
not know the difference between the song 
of a blackbird and that of a thrush. How- 
ever, the bird itself settled the question by 
obligingly showing itself, and once again he 
concentrated on his heroine* 

She was quite up to his usual form as far 
as he had got— one of his typical heroines, 
who had earned him the reputation of being 
an uncom promising realist, He saw life as 
it was, and he wrote it down on paper, 
strongly flavoured with a delightful cynicism 
which was peculiarly his own, At least, so 
he had constantly been told by a host of 

But this particular heroine showed a 
strong desire to break out on a line of her 

own. She had posi- 
tive hankerings 
after marriage with 
a penniless subal- 
tern, which is all 
right in theory, but 
in practice is simply 
not done. Not by 
a realist* At least, 
if it is, the result 
is a foregone con- 
clusion, And he 
wanted her to live 
as happily ever 
after as is possible 
in the world he 
sketched — the real 
world. Not the 
imaginary one of 
the idealists — that 
he scorned. The 
truth was all-im- 
portant ; to sacri- 
fice it for a sugar 
and spice effect 
struck him as 
cowardly — w o r s e 
still, as being false 
to his art. And he 
was a conscientious? 
artist of his own 

It was just as he 
had lit his second 
pipe that the girl, 
swinging a sun- 
bonnct in her hand, 
provided the third 
i n terru ption . She 
was an amazingly 
pretty girl — that he 
noticed at once ; 
under her arm 

-that he noticed 


'you must know that 


God's Truth 

immediately afterwards ; for the book had a 
very familiar paper wrapper on it ; the book 
was his own latest novel. And he liked 
pretty girls who read his books, even though 
he was a realist. 

" I hope I'm not trespassing," he remarked, 
at length. 

" Unless you're blind," she answered, 
uncompromisingly, " you must know that 
you are. The place is stiff with notice- 

He bowed. " I'm sorry," he said, gravely. 
" I don't think I've done any damage, and 
it's so perfectly lovely in these woods that 
I wandered on aimlessly." 

The frown gradually relaxed, and she 
came a few steps towards him. 

" They are lovely, aren't they ? " she 
agreed. " And this spot is the most perfect 
of all." 

" Do they belong to you ? " 

" To my father," she said. " We live up 
at the Hall." 

" A delightful house. I saw it from the 
road as I motored past. And then I came 
in here to try and think. My heroine is 
proving most intractable. I spoil paper, by 
way of something to do," he explained, 
seeing the puzzled look in her eyes. 

" Oh I an author ! " She regarded him 
with a new interest. " What does the poor 
woman want to do ? " 

11 Marry a hopelessly ineligible fellow 
merely because she imagines herself in love 
with him." 

" Merely ! " The girl looked at him 
curiously. " Isn't that a good enough 
reason ? " 

" In a book, perhaps," he smiled. " But 
not in real life." 

" Oh ! you're wrong, you're wrong." 
With a little scornful laugh she threw the 
book she was carrying — his book — on the 
ground. " You're like that man — Basil Mill- 
ward." She pointed an accusing finger at 
the familiar paper wrapper. " Realism — 
realism — at least, what he imagines to be 
realism ! And all he does is to write things 
that hurt." 

"Yet you read his books," remarked the 
man, gravely. 

"Oh! I read them — yes," she cried. 
" But I hate them." 

HE knocked out the ashes of his pipe, 
and started to fill it again. This was 
another side of the picture with a 

" I've read 'em, too," he said, casually. 
" And I don't think they struck me that 
way. Why do you hate them ? " 

" Because they're so cruel ; because 
they're so true." 

' The truth is cruel more often than not." 

" That's why he oughtn't to write it." 

" Rather a Bolshevik suggestion that, 
isn't it ? " Through the blue smoke curling 
up from his pipe -he watched her critically. 

" Why ? " she demanded. " We don't 
want the truth in what we read ; we get 
that without reading. We want what ought 
to be the truth — beauty, love, kindliness. 
We want to see visions and dream dreams. 
We want to forget. Don't you see ? Don't 
you understand that ? That's why Barrio 
is so wonderful. We know it isn't true — that 
it's only a fantasy. But he makes us think 
it is — for two hours." 

His pipe forgotten — he was staring at her 
now with unfeigned interest. 

" But surely," he began, " an author has 
no right to paint a world of make-believe. 
1 Each in his separate star shall draw the 
thing as he sees it, for the God of things as 
they are.' " He quoted the tag with a smile. 
What did this decided young person think 
of Kipling ? 

" But he's an idealist ! " she cried, " one 
of the greatest we have. He dreams in 
Empires'. Don't you see that the realist 
only follows? The big man — the idealist — 
leads. His ideals may be wrong, impossible ; 
but he's tried. He's not a plagiarist, any- 

" Good Lord 1 " exploded the man. " Do 
you mean to say that you consider a man 
who writes the truth is a plagiarist ? " - 

" Well, he's . copying, isn't he ? " She 
stared at him defiantly. " He's only a 
glorified journalist." 

" My sacred aunt ! " he muttered. " You're 
a dangerous revolutionary." 

She laughed, and after a moment or two 
he joined in. 

" I suppose I'm young and foolish," she 
remarked. " And also I'm getting out of 
my depth. But what I do feel most strongly 
is this. There's so little beauty and pleasure 
in this world, that the man who can do it 
should add to it. There are ideals, and 
they're glossed over to-day in real life by 
every sort of rottenness. Can't the men lik<? 
Basil Mill ward try and keep them alive ? 
Can't they lead instead of following ? Isn't 
it better to paint an impossible love in a 
cottage with your hopeless ineligible than 
picture a successful society marriage from 
the worldly point of view ? " 

"You think Basil Millward could do 
that ? " he asked, gravely. 

" Of course he could — but he won't. It 
wouldn't pay him." She gave a little scornful 

" Probably the poor devil must live," 
murmured the man, " however incompre- 
hensible the necessity. Besides, I don't 
think it's quite his style, is it — the fairy 

stor firMsiTY OF MICHIGAN 

H. C. McNeile ("Sapper") 

" But it isn't a, fairy story, I tell you." 
She stamped her foot. " It's the truth — the 
real truth. That's the falsehood." Again 
she pointed at the offending novel, lying in 
mute resignation between them. 

He stared at her with thoughtful eyes. 
" I see," he remarked, at length.. " I see, 
oh lady of the decided views ! And might 
I ask — without being impertinent — if you 
propose to practise what you preach ? " He 
pointed at the diamond ring on the third 
finger of her left hand. 

She blushed slightly and nodded. " Jf by 
that you mean — am I marrying the* man I 
love — yes." 

" I don't quite mean that," he said, with 
a faint smile. " This lucky man — is he the 
hopelessly ineligible fellow of my recalcitrant 
heroine ? " 

" He hasn't got any money," she answered, 
defiantly. " But if there is love nothing else 
matters." And then suddenly she pulled 
herself up short. " You know, this is the 
most extraordinary conversation between 
two complete strangers." 

"Is it ? " said the man, casually. " I 
hadn't noticed it. It struck me as being 
peculiarly interesting. And what does your 
future husband do to sustain body and soul ?" 

" He's an engineer," she answered. " And 

I know he's bound to get on. Though " 

She broke off, frowning. 

" Though your certainty is not shared by 
everyone in the picture." He appeared 
engrossed in relighting his pipe. " Quite so ; 
the older generation are most uncompromising 
realists sometimes. And when does the 
deed take place ? " 

" As soon as he can get enough money." 
Then, apropos of nothing in particular, 
" Oh ! I hate the older generation. I bet 
you he is a soured, middle-aged man." 

" Who — the engineer ? " He looked up 
in amazement; then a grin spread over his 
face. " Oh ! You mean Basil Mill ward. 
Forgive my denseness. For a moment I 
failed to follow you." 

" On the rare occasions he has written of a 
happy marriage, he's done it with his tongue 
in his cheek." 

" That's not fair," said the man, quickly. 
" You know you're exaggerating." 

" Well, at any rate," cried the girl, " he's 
always insisting on the importance of money, 

and — and " She kicked the offending 

tome viciously away from her. 

For a moment there shone in the man's 
eyes a strange look of pity and understand- 
ing ; the story was so clear in spite of the 
gaps — perhaps because of them. 

" I read him a little differently," he said, 
quietly. " It seems to me that under his 
so-called cynicism there lies a great longing 
for what might be. But every time his pen 

would stray in that direction he comes up 
against the inexorable fact that — it isn't. 
And maybe he feels that it is better — more 
honest — not to paint a He, which perhaps 
would deceive ; would make people — some 
people — think it was the truth. Perhaps he 
knows that only to the very few does God 
grant a love which is all -sufficing ; and, 
what is more important, that from century 
to century the very many refuse to believe 
that fact. They go on trying ; they go on 
failing — because they've started wrong. Just 

for a while love is enough — and then " 

He knocked out his pipe against a tree and 
put it in his pocket. " Unless, of course, 
they belong to the very few. But it's a big 

" A risk that is worth while every time," 
said the girl, steadily. 

fi So the very many have always said." 
He held out his hand. " Shall I make my 
heroine say it ? " 

" Of course. What else could she say — if 
she's anything of a heroine ? " 

" She's rather good up to date." He 
smiled at her, still holding her hand. " Thank 
you for not prosecuting me for trespassing — 
and for what you've said. And may I wish 
you luck ? " 

" One of the very few ? " 

" One of the very few," he said, gravely. 

The next moment he had left her, and, at 
last, long after he was gone, the girl picked 
up the book, and sat down with her back 
against a tree. In the undergrowth near by 
the blackbird had started its song again ; 
the brook still gurgled on its merry way. 

" One of the very few," she whispered 
under her breath. " Why, Jim, dear— of 
course we are ; of course." 

And Basil Millward's book dropped un- 
heeded on the grass beside her. 

T the 'All, sir ? Mr. Bannister do live 
there. Children ? Only one— Miss 
Ruth. The son, 'e was killed in 

The landlord of tke Three Cows leaned 
genially over the bar. 

" Good beer ? Aye — but not what it was 
before the war. No body in it, says I. 
All along of this 'ere danged Government." 

The man put down his tankard and 

" There are two things in this world, 
landlord, that never change. And I've 
heard 'em both this afternoon. One is the 
certainty of youth that it is always right — — " 

" They do be pig-headed at times," agreed 
Boniface. " And what would be the other, 
sir ? " 

" The certainty of everybody that the 
Government is always ^vrong," said the man, 


7 6 

God's Truth 

And the worthy proprietor of the Three 
Cows was still pondering when the hum of 
the car had died away in the distance* 



HE editor of Dalian's Magazine appears 
somewhat amused/' That prince of 
literary agents, Mr. Hastings, leaned 
back in his chair and regarded Basil 
Mill ward with twinkling eyes, 

" Oh, does he ? " grunted Mill ward. if And 
what particularly has tickled his young 
fancy ? " 

*' You. my dear man, you— and your short 
story. He rang me up on the telephone 
to find out when the marriage was going to 
take place/' 

" Hang his impertinence I " Mill ward 
grinned a little sheepishly, " Just because 
a fellow happens to write something a little 
different to his usual trash M 

14 A little different! " Mr. Hastings laughed 
outright. " And then your special instruc- 
tions about the illustrations tickled him to 
death. Do you really want to take the illus- 
trator down to look at the scene of the 
tragedy ? *' 

" I do/' answered Mill ward, doggedly. 

" And is the heroine to be looked at also ? " 

'" No, confound you, you old scoundrel ! 
I suppose 1 shall have to gratify your vulgar 
curiosity. That story is a wedding present/' 

" Indeed/' murmured the other, politely. 
M How nice I M 

" Don't be sarcastic, or I shall refuse to 
ask you to runch. A fortnight ago, Hastings, 
I wandered in the country, and in the course 
of my wanderings I encountered a charming 
and lovely maiden, who was about to be 
married to an impecunious and, in all 
probability, totally unworthy engineer. But 
what particularly interested me about her, 
after her appearance, was her intense anti- 
pathy to the novels of one Basil Mil! ward. 
She was carrying one when I met her, and 
in the intervals of our conversation she 
kicked it with vim and accuracy. In fact, 
she completely ruined the elegant paper 
cover which caused our one and only Williams 
so many sleepless nights/* 

I Dear, dear ! " The twinkle was in- 
creasing in the agent's eyes. 

" Needless to say, she did not know that 
I was Basil Mi 11 ward, and I did not enlighten 
her on the point/' 

"It might have cramped her style, un- 
doubtedly/' conceded the other. 

II I gathered that his realism was abhorrent 
to her ; that she regarded him as a plagiarist 
of about the standing of a fifth-rate journal- 
ist, I further gathered that it was his 
bounden duty to write of love in a cottage. 
Ideals she wanted- — not reality. Not the 

c I see/' said Mr. Hastings, quietly. 
" She wanted someone to tell her she was 
right. Tell her the gamble was worth while/' 

" You've got it." answered Millwanl. 
" She's up against it at home — I could see 
that ; and, by God, Hastings, it was like a 
breath of. one's own childhood to hear her 
talk. The old simplicity came back " 

He rose and walked up and down the room 
with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, 

u She's not an ignorant child/' he went on. 
after a moment, " talking for effect. She ^ 

got bjratns, that girl ; and " He paused, 

staring at his own photograph, which eon- 
fronted him. 'And she said that it was hi> 
business " — he pointed at the likeness, 
thoughtfully — " to draw what might be — not 

what is. That he could do it — only it 
wouldn't pay* To lead instead of follow. 
Hang it, Hastings " — he swung round and 
stared at the other — " almost she persuaded 
me to be a Christian/' 

M Almost ? Quite, I should say — judging 
by your effort for Dalton's* 1 ' 

" Oh, that's a flash in the pan. 1 shall go 

back to the old style ; unless '* He lit 

a cigarette with ostentatious deliberation, 

"An engineer, ; vau sav," murmured Mr. 


H. C. McNeile ("Sapper") 

Hastings, tilting back his chair and gazing 
at the ceiling; " And to come back to busi- 
ness — your charming fantasy is at once an 
atonement and a present, You want a 
copy of the magazine sent her ? " 
" Yes — direct from the publishers. ' 
Mr. Hastings made a note on a slip of 

The prince of literary agents bent over his 
desk to conceal his face, 

" Quite/' he murmured, soothingly, "quite. 
Would you like to use my telephone to tell 
them to take the chill off the claret for lunch ? " 
You vile materialist ! J laughed Mill- 
ward. Have you ever heard the proverb 

" He paused, staring at his own 
photograph, which confronted him> 
1 And she said that it was his busi- 
he pointed at the likeness — 
to lead instead of follow/ * 


paper, ' It shall be done. And you VI better 
fix tip direct with the illustrator as to when 
you go down,' 1 

ri It'll be awkward if she disc overs us in 
the act/' said Mill ward, dubiously. 

" Very," agreed the other. " By the way 
— date of publication ? " 

" As soon as possible." 

" And what about America ? " 

,H Bother America ! Confound it r man, this 
is a wedding present ! You're singularly 
dense to-day/' 

anerit the fruit of the oyster and one of the 
baser denizens of the farmyard ? " 


IT was two months later that Basil Mill- 
ward, glancing through his morning mail, 
came across a letter which made him pause 
and stare at the postmark. It was unread- 
able, and he turned the envelope over two or 
three times in his hand. It was addressed 
to him care of Dnltofts Magazine, and in- 


God's Truth 

He got many letters similarly addressed, but 
over this one he felt sure before he opened it. 

The number of the magazine containing 
his story had been out about a week : the 
Copy had been duly sent from the office. 
And here was the answer. 

With a faint smile playing round his lips 
he opened the letter and glanced at the signa- 
ture. He was right : it was from the girl, 
and, propping it up against the coffee-pot, 
he began to read. 

" So you were Basil Millward," it ran. 
" Stupid df me not to have recognized you — 
seeing that your photograph is not unknown 
in the illustrated papers. And I presume 
your story in Dalian's was meant for me. I 
don't quite know what induced you to write 
it, or whether you expect me to thank you 
for it. If you want the truth, I am not in 
the slightest degree grateful ; in fact, I con- 
sider you were rather impertinent. When a 
child cares for a toy that it thinks is the 
biggest thing in the world, you give it that 
toy with an indulgent smile. And then, after 
a while, it finds out its mistake and the toy 
is discarded. 

" But I'm not a child — and I dislike being 
handed toys with an indulgent smile. As I 
say. I think it is impertinent. You don't 
believe what you wrote ; you had your 
tongue in your cheek the whole time. That's 
what makes me angry — not so much with 
you as with myself. Because I don't believe 
what you wrote myself — now. 
" Yours faithfully, 

" Ruth Bannister." 

Twice did Basil Millward read it through 
from end to end ; then he rose and went to 
the telephone. 

•' I don't believe what you wrote myself — 

Poor kid 1 Disillusioned already. Truly 
that engineer must be an unworthy man. 

He got through to the garage and told 
them to get his car ready. Then he rang up 
a theatrical manager and cancelled a luncheon 
engagement. After which interval the in- 
dubitable fact that cold kidneys are depress- 
ing articles of diet forced itself on his mind. 

He glanced anxiously through the window 
at a somewhat watery sun, but decided that 
it might be better in the country. And half 
an hour later, with the letter in his pocket, 
he was threading his way through the traffic. 

Discreet pumping of the landlord of the 
Three Cows revealed nothing save that Miss 
Ruth was not away from home ; and after 
lunch Millward drove slowly off in the direc- 
tion of the wood where he had met her. He 
was going to chance her coming again to the 
little glade ; and if she didn't that after- 
noon, he'd come back the next, and the next, 
until she did. It was there that he must 
meet her ; he couldn't go to the Hall. 

HE struck the stream without difficulty, 
and followed it till he reached his gcaL 
It was just the same — not a twig seemed 
different. The brook still murmured past his 
feet ; a little lower perhaps — but there hadn't 
been much rain. The blackbird was an 
absentee, but the hum of the insect world 
supplied the orchestra. And with his back 
against a tree Basil Millward sat and waited. 

Once he pulled out her letter and read it 
again with a frown — a most unworthy 
fellow, that engineer ! Gradually the frown 
disappeared ; another train of thought 
appeared to have replaced his anger against 
the sinner. One that brought a smile to his 
lips ; one that 

And then, with dramatic suddenness, 
came the girl. At one moment he had the 
glade to himself ; the next he saw her stand- 
ing on the opposite side, staring at him in 
silence. She made no movement as he 
stood up — only went on staring at him ; and 
after a while he smiled. 

" I have come to apologize," he said, with 
a bow. 

" There's no excuse for trespassing this 
time, Mr. Millward," she said, gravely. 
" You know the way out, don't you ? " 

" Part of my creed is that I never run away 
from things I don't understand," said Mill- 
ward. " Why don't you believe yourself — 
now ? " 

" Do you want material for another short 
story ? " Her lips curled a little, and the 
man winced. 

" That's not fair, Miss Bannister," he said, 
quietly. " You're not quite just." 

She shrugged her shoulders. " Let us 
put it, then, that I'nj not very interested," 
she remarked. " Are you going or am I ? " 

" Is my presence so very distasteful to 
you ? " he asked, slowly. 

" Distasteful ! Good heavens, Mr. Mill- 
ward, please don't become melodramatic. 
You've got no right to be here, as you know 
— so I should be obliged if you would go. 
I'm not in the mood for talking this after- 

He bowed. " Then that leaves me no 
alternative. But before I go there is one 
thing I want to make clear. When I wrote 
that short story I was not actuated by the 
feeling you attributed to me in your letter. 
There was nothing I felt less like than a 
grown-up handing a child a toy with an in- 
dulgent smile. It was a tribute — feeble, I 
admit, but one that I thought you would 
understand — to a far greater reality than my 
realism has ever painted." 

" What do you mean ? " she asked, 

" During the half -hour we talked. Miss 
Bannister," he went on r gravely, *' you made 
me understand the difference between God's 


H. C. McNeile (" Sapper ") 


reality and man's ; see the immeasurable 
gulf between the two. I have written the 
truth as I saw it — man's truth. Clamorous, 
perhaps, in its insistence on being portrayed ; 
clamorous, perhaps, because it is ephemeral 
and passing ; clamorous because, in the big 
scheme, it is a lie. And God's truth — which 
men call idealism — is pushed aside. It is 
magnificent, doubtless, but it is not life. It 
doesn't stand much chance to-day ; it has 
to creep away into little secret places — 
where God is. And there, perhaps, for a 
space it may be given to a man to under- 
stand its infinite beauty. Sometimes the 
interpreter is his own soul ; sometimes it is 
another person. My story, for what it was 
worth, was a tribute to my interpreter." 

He raised his eyes and looked at her, and 
the tears were trembling on her lashes. 

"An interpreter who got it all wrong/' 
she said, shakily. " All wrong — from begin- 
ning to end." 

" Ah ! no — don't say that." He took a 
step towards her. "I'm relying on you." 

She shook her head wearily. " He broke 
it off — the engagement — the day after we 
had our talk. By letter. Said it was impos- 
sible to afford it ; would hamper him in his 
work. And he's gone to Peru for five years." 

" Ah ! " He looked away lest she should 
see the sudden flaming hope in his eyes. 
" And does it still hurt ? " 

" No," she answered, slowly. " I don't 
think it does. At least, not the fact that 
he's gone. It's the crumbling of one's ideals 
— however stupid they are — that takes the 
time to heal." 

" But you mustn't let them crumble — just 
because one man has failed. Why not keep 
them standing for some other man, who — 
who may come along ? " His face was still 
averted, and he heard her give a little laugh 
that was half a sob. 

" Men don't want ideals. Oh ! I don't 
blame them. Theirs is the responsibility of 
the home, of supporting their wife and chil- 
dren ; theirs is the necessity of battling 
with man's truth, as you call it. God's truth 
doesn't supply you with bread and butter. 
It may have infinite beauty, as you say : 
once I thought it did. But it fails to fill 
one's stomach." She laughed again ; then, 

very low, he heard her say : " It's a sham — 
a mockery." 

AFTER a while he turned ana laced her. 
And, being a man, with a man's foolish- 
ness, he imagined she saw nothing un- 
usual in his face ; while she, being a woman, 
with a woman's intuition, met his eyes for 
one half-second and then looked away. 

" Men do want ideals," he said, gravely. 
" More than ever to-day. But because they 
realize all too early in life that what you said 
is the truth — that ideals don't give you bread 
and butter — they forget them. They fold 
them up and put them away ; and then in 
years to come if they take them out — they 
find they don't fit, and throw them away. 
But they miss them — all their lives, either 
consciously or unconsciously. You made me 
take mine out. I — I — want help to make 
them fit." 

She was engrossed in throwing sticks into 
the stream, and seemed unconscious of his 
closeness to her. 

"I'm not going to ask you now if you will 
give me that help." His voice was very 
low. "I'm only going to say that you're 
the most wonderful thing I've ever met — and 

that — and that — I lo that I can supply 

the bread and butter." He finished with 
a gasp. 

Her shoulders began to shake gently. 

" But can you always — always, I repeat — 
guarantee strawberry jam as well ? " 
* Invariably," he answered, stoutly. 

" Then you must have a most wonderful 
grocer. Mr. Millward — Basil — my dear, don't. 
Not yet. Let me think." 

" You very glorious girl ! " he whispered, 
and his voice was shaking. " It isn't pos- 
sible. I must be dreaming." 

And now her eyes met his without falter- 

" Let's keep it God's truth, dear man," 
she said, gently. " Let's keep it God's 
truth as long as we can." 

Basil Millward bent his head. " That's 
for all our lives, darling," he answered, 
gravely. " Till Journey's End." 

From the; branches above poured out a 
flood of song — the blackbird's overture to 
the world-old play that is ever new. 



Discovery of his Wife's Honeymoon Diary / 

The Romantic Story of the Private Journal of the Empress Marie Louise, which has 
just been brought to light and is to be published for the first time in cur next number. 








IT La strange, but true, that 
clever conjurers fight shy of children's 
parties. I used to like thorn, and 
yet I suppose I had my fair share 
oi mishaps before, during, and after the 

I remember once being bothered by a boy 
of twelve, my 
host's son, before a 
performance. He 
wanted to come 
behind my screen 
and see me unpack 
and get everything 
ready. His father 
got him away, but 
while I was out of 
the room for a 
moment the boy 
slipped back again. 
Suddenly the 
whole house was 
startled by a loud 
report, Everybody 
rushed to the 
drawing - room. I 
had to pretend to 
rush, but I knew 
what had hap* 

That inquisitive 
boy had picked 
up the revolver I 
had placed in 
readiness for a 

trick and had pulled the trigger to see if it 
was loaded. The noise and a damaged 
Venetian blind showed that it had been 
loaded. The boy's mother said that it was 
disgracefully careless of me to leave loaded 
revolvers about, but luckily for me the boy's 
father came to my rescue and said that the 
boy was at fault in meddling with my thiii£>. 
But it wasn't the nicest way to begin a 

The boys who offered to help iiu* 
pack up after a party used to bother nu* ; 
some of them were very old M boys " — in 
fact, fathers of families. Their wish to 
know how some of the tricks were really 
done would make them forget to speak the 

" I-ook here, let me help you pack up," 
they would say. " You needn't mind me, 
because I've read all about these things in a 
book and I'm a bit of a conjurer myself." 

Of course, I never accepted their kind 
offer, and when they found that there was 
nothing doing they would generally join the 
others at the party. I remember one young 
man who was very persistent ; I couldn't 
get rid of him, so I laid a little trap for him, 
I told him that if he would kindly fold up a 
few flags and handkerchiefs for me 1 should 
be greatly obliged, I added that I was just 
going into the hall to put my rabbit back in 
its basket, I picked up the rabbit, went 
out, closed the door, and opened it again 
instantly. The young man had dropped 

The boys some of them were very old 'boys* in fact, fathers of 
families — who offered to help mt pact up, u*ed to bother me." 


David Devant 


the flags and had started to overhaul my 
tricks, 1 waited for a moment ; then the 
young man, caught in the act, suddenly 
remembered that he really ought to he going 
down to supper. 

IVe had s cores and scores of troublesome 
boys to deal with at parties — boys who say 
that they know how everything is done, I 
remember one who kept this up for half an 
hour without any reproof from his elders* 
I had to do something in the way of self- 
protection, so I began my memory feat. 
The audience write down the names of 
thirty articles, read them to me once, and I 
remember them. 

This precocious youth said that he could 
do that himself. I thanked him and said I 
should be very grateful if he would kindly 
do half the feat for me, as it would give me 
an opportunity of going behind my screen 
to prepare for the next trick, I retired be- 
hind the screen, and the boy took his place 
on the " stage." The only article he could 
ro member was the one he had written down 
himself, and I am glad to say he got well 
laughed at for his fourteen failures, I then 
presented the feat in the usual way, and I 
had no more trouble with that boy. 

One of the strangest children I've ever 
met was a little girl .who came to me in a 
room in which I was waiting before a per- 
formance. She asked me my name, age, 
place of my birth, if I ever went for a holiday, 
if so, where, to, and heaps of other questions. 
I answered them all and then ventured to 
ask what her name was. She drew herself 
up to her full height — which wasn't very 
much— suddenly assumed the dignified air 
of a dowager duchess, and exclaimed : — 

** How dare you ask me my name 1 " 

That ended the conversation. 

The easiest performance I ever gave was 
before a party of three hundred poor chil- 
dren. The man who was giving the party 
told me that the performance was not to 
last a minute over the hour. (I knew that 
it wouldn't.) Just as I was going 1o begin 
he brought me three hundred threepenny- 
pieces and asked me to produce those in a 
trick and hand them out to the children. 
As I couldn't scramble the money I had to 
give away each coin separately, and that 
one little trick took up about twenty-five 

MY shortest performance lasted five 
minutes, but I was engaged for an 
hour. My host would not let me 
begin at the right time ; I reminded him 
that I had to get back to the Egyptian 
Hall, but he seemed to think that was 
bluff. Having been kept waiting for fifty- 
five minutes I gave a performance which 
lasted exactly five minutes and then went 
Vol l*i.-6. 

How dare you ask me my name? " 

away. My host refused to pay the fee, but 
I am glad to be able to add that my agent 
sued him for it and got it; 

Some Christmas conjurers do not under* 
stand children, and so they persist in doing 
clever sleight-of-hand tricks to them and 
disregard the fact that children do not like 
such tricks. Such conjurers are '* conjuring 
mad." They are excellent for an audience 
composed entirely of conjurers or of people 
who are intensely interested in conjuring, 
but they are worse than useless for any other 
audience, They accept engagements for 
children's parties simply because they want 
the money, and the conjurer who performs 
for that reason alone is seldom successful. 

Other conjurers dislike children's parties 
because they are frankly afraid of the 
ch i I d ren . They know — probably from bit ter 
experience — that if a child, by a lucky guess, 
hits on the secret of a trick, that child will 
make the information known to others, . 

I have often been asked what a conjurer 
should do in such painful circumstances. 
Having been pulled off his pedestal by a' 
mere child, how is he to get back again with- 
out loss of dignity ? 

Well, there is one thing he must not be 
tempted to do ; he must not make the fatal 
mistake of trying to argue the matter with 
the child. To do that is to ask for trouble 
and, in most cases, to get it I Neither 
should the conjurer appear crestfallen or 
confused, and he will not be if he tells him- 
self that he has not really given a trick away 
(let us hope he hasn't) and that the child 
merely happened to guess right. In most 



The Christmas Conjurer 

rases the child has not really seen through 
the trick. 

A little bluffing in such cases is sometimes 
advisable, but the wisest course is to take 
no notice of the interruption. The chances 
are that few people in the audience will hear 
all the child said, and that fewer still will 
believe that the child's guess has hit the 
m irk. 

Happily for conjurers, children's guesses 
about tricks — and if they do not guess 
audibly they are not enjoying the perform- 
ance — are nearly always wrong, I know 
conjurers who make it a rule not to hide 
anything in their hands — " palm " J is the 
technical name for it — when they are per- 
forming to children, because they are so 
afraid of being bowled out by the children, 
When I was a Christmas conjurer — many 
years ago — 1 invariably found that children 
would charge me with having something 
hidden in my hand when my hand was 
empty, but that when I really had some- 
thing there the children were never sus- 
picious. I cannot remember ever having 
been asked to show my hand at an incon- 
venient time* 

If they were allowed to choose, the 
children would, 1 am sure, ask for " tricks 
which make you laugh '* ; they cannot 
do with a conjurer who takes conjuring 
too seriously — at any rate, when he is 
performing to them ; he can be as serious 
as he likes when he is at home, And 
some conjurers are dreadfully in earnest 
when they are at home and are talking 
con j u ri ng to other 

Some parents de- 
scribe the conjurer— 
before his ar rival- 
as " the funny man/' 
which is rather hard 
on the conjurer. If 
he is not careful he 
may overhear a child 
demanding to know 
— after he has been 
working for all he 
is w r orth for twenty 
minutes- — ** when the 
funny man is going 
to be funny." For- 
tunately, it is not 
difficult to supply a 
child's demand for 
fun, but a little 
thought is necessary, 
and the average con- 
jurer is usually so 
intent on thinking of 
Ids conjuring that 
he forgets to be an 
entertainer. Dir 

A REALLY tirst-rate man will not be 
content with doing tricks merely for 
the children ; they will be his first 
consideration, of course, but he will take 
care, while entertaining them, to mystify 
the grow T n-ups as well. A man who can do 
this — and very few men can do it — scores 
in more ways than one. 

In amusing and entertaining the children 
and mystifying the adults he also amuses 
the adults, and laughter is very infectious. 
After the children have laughed at the points 
in a trick which they can understand they 
will often start laughing at something in a 
trick which they cannot quite understand 
because they hear their elders laughing 
Happy the conjurer who can achieve this 
miracle, and happy the hostess who secures 
his services, for, thanks to the Christmas 
conjurer, that party will be a big success. 

I remember one charming hostess who 
came to me at the end of my performance, 
thanked me, and added : — 

" And although they were children's 
tricks, I didn't see through any of them ! M 

I told her I was very glad, and then her 
husband chimed in : — 

*' Neither did I, and 1 was quite close to 
you all the time/ 1 

1 gathered that they had both expects! 
to have a few lessons in " how- it is done/* 
and were secretly a trifle disappointed, 

Well, they ought to have been at some 
of my other parties, for I have had a few 

I used to do a trick with a lamp chimney. 

" A wild-looking Indian rushed intn the dress circle, fired off his 
revolver twice, -d^^ omthffil 

David Devant 


I closed one end with a piece of wet paper, 
tiHed the chimney with water, put a piece 
of wet paper on the top, and held it still for 
a moment* Then I took oif the top paper 
and then the lower one, but the water re- 
mained in the chimney until I told it to flow 
out into a glass bowl- on the table. 

On one occasion the water got out of hand 
and poured out all over my shirt-front. I 
hurriedly explained that I always did that, 
just to show people that the water was real 
water. The water was very cold, and I had 
to pretend that 1 was accus- 
tomed to being wet through. 

1 used to conclude mv per- 
formance with the production 
of two very large flags — the 
Union Jack and 
the Stars and 
Stripes — on long 
posts, lonce 
brought these out 
with a great 
flourish in rather 
a small drawing- 
room, and in 
doing so just 
missed a collision 
with a large glass 
chandelier hang- 
ing in the centre 
of the room. My 
host said to me 
afterwards : — 

" What a splen- 
did eye for dis- 
tance you ' must 
have ! Do you 
know, when you 
brought out those 
Hags I quite 
thought you had 
ca nght the chan- 

1 didn't tell him 
so, but 1, too t 
quite thought I 
had caught the chandelier, until the trick 
was over and I found I had missed it by 
an inch, 

IN thinking of conjurers' mistakes I recall 
I one made by an Indian conjurer who was 

performing at a music-hall in the provinces. 
The, bigL- trick of the performance was an 
escape from a cabinet on the stage. The 
performer, got into the cabinet ami a curtain 
was drawn across it: In an instant the 
performer appeared in the auditorium and 
the assistant in the cabinet. 

That is how the illusion should have been 
presented, but on the occasion I refer to the 
music-hall was being painted and a door 
leading from the stage to the auditorium 

" As the boy received each egg he pressed it against 

his velvet jacket ; by ibe time 1 bad finished he was 

smothered with eggs/' 

had been locked. The room below the 
stage was also being whitewashed. When 
the Indian secretly made his way out of tho 
cabinet he ran up against a good deal of 
whitewash, but could not run out of the 
door which led to the auditorium, so he 
popped out of the stage door, intending to 
run round to the front of the house. By 
this time, thanks to the whitewash, he was 
a very piebald Indian, When he got outside 
the hall he could not find his way round to 
the front, and, knowing that seconds were 
valuable in an illusion of this kind, he sought 
help from a boy. 

** Where's the front of the theatre ? "he 

The boy showed him. He got just what 

he asked for — the 
theatre, which 
happened to be 
close to the music- 
hall ; only a nar- 
row passage sepa- 
rates the two 
buildings. There- 
fore, the audience 
in the theatre 
were disturbed in 
the middle of an 
intense love- scene 
by a wild-looking, 
piebald Indian, 
who rushed into 
thfe dress circle, 
fired off his re- 
volver twice, and 
exclaimed :■ — 
' Here I am I " 
I once came 
across a little boy 
who seemed to 
have no sense of 
touch. He came 
up to help, me in 
a trick in which I 
produce a number 
of eggs from a hat, 
I give the eggs to a little girl, with instruc- 
tions to pass them on to the boy. The fun 
begins when the boy gets overloaded with 
eggs and starts to drop them. 

This little boy did not wait for that mo- 
ment. As he received each egg he clutched 
it eagerly and pressed it against his nice 
little velvet jacket ; by the time 1 had 
finished he w r as smothered with eejgs, an ^ ' 
don't think I have ever heard louder laughter 
from an audience. That trick cost nic a 
new velvet suit for the boy. 

A very short experience with audiences 
of the rustic labourer type taught me what 
tricks to avoid doing to them. I remember 
when I was a begin uer having some good 


uould get to the 
end of the trick and 
ask the rustic whc> 
had taken a card : 
" Is that your card, 
sir ? M And the 
answer would be ; 
4M Blest if I know— 
I've clean forgot! " 
My assurance that 
the card was the 
card which he had 
taken out of the 
pack in the fir^t 
instance was never 

I used to have a 
very raw assistant 
who was a jjer- 
petuai joy to me. 
He was splendid at 
carrying things and 
looking after the 
luggage and pre- 
paring matters be- 
hind th f : scenes, but 
he was not exactly 
a diplomatist. I 
remember ones 
going to a country rectory with him. After 
the performance the kindly rector suggested 
that we should like a little refreshment, 
and asked my assistant if he would have a 
glass of sherry. 

"No, thank you, sir/ p said my assistant, 
with much feeling ; " [ had some last year ! " 

I once found myself in a very awkward 
fix after a performance at a big house near 
Epping Forest. I was down to give a per- 
formance in the afternoon to the children 
and another in the evening to the grown-iu>s. 
I had a pianist with me. After the first 
performance my host took us round the 
garden and showed us, among other thing?, 
a very large and ferocious dog, which was 
chained up- He warned us not to go near 
the dog. He explained that the dog was 
necessary because, being so near the East- 
end of London, they sometimes had strange 
visitors in that district, and so every evening 
the dog was let loose and was allowed to 
roam about the grounds, which were en- 
closed by a high wall. 

My second performance was rather late. 
Afterwards, the pianist and I hurried ofl to 
catch the last train and — missed it. There 
was nothing fur it but to return to the 
house, and when we got to the gate we re- 
membered the dog. The pianist suggested 
that we should toss to see who went first* 

*' And," he stipulated, " none of your 
tricks, please.'* 

I tossed honestly and— lost. I think 
that the walk from the gate to the house 

The Christmas Conjurer 


No, thank you, «r ; 1 had some last year I 

was the bravest thing I ever did. It was 
pitch dark ; I was carrying a heavy bag, 
and I expected every second to be stopped 
by a savage bull-mastiff. 

Luckily, when we got to the house, we 
found that our host and his guests had not 
gone to bed. Th^y were pleased to laugh 
at our adventure, and then told us that as 
they had half expected to see us again they 
had taken the precaution of chaining up the* 
tfog< We returned to London by road. 

IOXCE lost a toss— and yet won it, I was 
going down to a Sunday-school in the 

country. An entertainer at the piano and 
I had to provide a two-hour** entertainment 
between us, and having looked up the 
trains we knew that the one who went on 
for the second part would have to stay the 
night somewhere. So we tossed to see who 
should go on first, and I lost. When we got 
to the village hail the vicar came up and 
asked if the conjurer would kindly give tin? 
first half of the entertain in cut ! 

I used to find that all children were alike 
in their taste for conjuring tricks, I have 
conjured to the offspring of the best people 
in the land, and I have conjured to the 
children of the gutter: the same tricks 
pleased all kinds of juvenile audiences. 

I used to be very interested in watching 
the expressions of the children's faces and 
in studying their gestures and the movements 
of their little heads. Most children are 
beautifully uutieiuMh ; when they get a huge 


David Devant 




joke put down in front of them they feel 
they must share it with other children and 
their parents and their jolly bachelor 
uncles. Bachelor uncles form the perfect 
background of many a Christmas party 
audience, I could tell almost to a second 
when the . children's expressions would 
change, how they would change, and what 
the whispered comments on the performance 
would be. - ■ 

I have tried to show that the ideal Christ- 
inas conjurer is not merely a man who can 
do a few tricks ; the man who has mastered 
a few tricks has gone only about half-way 
to his goal, Even that distance is too much 
for some men. How do they toil along the 
road to success ? 

By conjuring. An amateur cannot hope 
to be successful until he has appeared many 
times before audiences ; private rehearsals 
are very necessary, of course, but perform- 
ances with people looking on are indis- 
pensable. Consequently, the earnest ama- 
teur loses no opportunity of gaining ex- 
perience* He will not care what sort of 
audience it is, or where it is, or what it costs 
him to get there, so long as he can appear. 
I have often thought that life in workhouses 
and lunatic asylums must be really rather 
amusing in the winter, for it is in such places 
that conjurers learn their job and p having 
learned it, become professionals. Sunday- 
schools are also useful, but Sunday-school 

The children helped themselves. 1 had great difficulty in 
rescuing my tricks/' 

audiences are very critical ; they see many 

I knew a professional conjurer who was 
once considerably surprised to find that his 
performance at a. Sunday school seemed to 
be going very flat. The superintendent of 
the school explained matters afterward?. 
The children had previously had an amateur 
conjurer whose performance had evidently 
been so very bad that those children had 
had the time of their lives. They had 

bowled out nearly all the tricks, made the 
amateur nervous, and enjoyed the whole 
thing immensely and in the wrong way. It 
took one or two good performers to show 
, them how to enjoy a conjuring performance 

I was only once late for a performance at 
the old Egyptian Hall, but I was not to 
blame, I had been giving a performance at 
a children's party, finishing with a distribu- 
tion trick. The children got the idea into 
their heads that everything I had with me 
was to be distributed — tricks, flags, hand- 
kerchiefs, ribbons, the rabbits, everything. 
They helped themselves, I had great 
difficulty in rescuing my tricks, which I 
needed for my performance at the Egyptian 
Hall + The next day I had another set of 
tricks made, and always after that I kept one 
set at the Hall and another set for parties, 

SOME hostesses seem to think that there 
is no limit to the conjurer's abilities. 
They will coolly bear down on the con* 
jurer just before he is ready to begin and 
ask him to work one or two " little presents " 
into one of his tricks. Among the trifles 
which 1 have been expected to "palm" in 
this way have been a rocking-horse, a large 
dolls' house, and a mountain of 
crackers, all loose, You cannot 
make a really good 
trick out of such things 
on the spur of the 

It will be seen that 
the work of the Christ- 
mas conjurer is not 
quite so simple and 
easy as it may appear 
to be ; it does not con- 
sist merely in learning 
a few tricks and then 
doing them over and 
over again. Sometimes 
I think that the most 
successful conjurersare 
the men who have given 
as much thought and 
labour to the study of 
human nature as they 
have to the study of 
But let it not be thought that I am pessi- 
mistic, I am not. The Christmas conjurer 
usually has a very good time in the Christmas 
holidays, I always enjoyed the Christmas 
parties, although my presence was profes- 
sional . And if, at times, I found myself 
engaged by a hostess who was not quite as 
Christmassy as I should have liked, 1 was 
always able to console myself afterwards 
with the thought that at any rate I had 
helped to make a few children happy. 




-,**#+. H**^*., , 

..-*.•■- . — 

4K2 a new 




Win a Prize t 







>i ■;' 

The following story contain* a number of mistakes — mistakes of facts, contradictions of 
one passage by another, and so forth -made purposely by the Author for the ingenuity 
of the reader to detect. For example, in Line 25 of the first column on the next page the 
Author aays " Boyd shipped bis sculls /' the word "■ sculls'' being; a mistake, as a few lines 
earlier it was stated that the couple were in a punt. 

Read the story carefully and see how many errors you can detect. Then make out a 

list of them— indicating each by the line, column, and page on which it occurs— and address 
it to •* Mistakes/' THE STRAND MAGAZINE, Southampton Street, Strand, London, to 
reach us on or before 25th January, 1921. To those who discover the greatest number of 
mistakes the following prizes are offered; — 


And Six other Prizes consisung of Newnes* Handsome Library Edition 
of H. G. Wells' " Outline of History.' 1 in Two Volumes {Published 
at 48,6). This edition is superbly printed and contains nearly 600 
illustrations, including 47 plates printed in Colours, and all the 
Original Horrabm Maps and Diagrams. 

The Editor's decision in all questions relating to this competition is final. 

THE more strenuous of the riverside 
house-party were busy on the 
tennis-courts, and some of the less 
strenuous were watching the game. 
Mr. Reginald Boyd, a tall, dean-shaven 
, young gentleman, who could be extremely 
strenuous and also extremely lazy, was 
supposed to be watching the game. But his 
looks strayed frequently towards the house. 
Presently out from the house came Kvadne 
Marsh. She was pretty, and somewhat 
capricious p and this morning she was in a 
wickedly had temper. She looked towards 
the tennis-courts, turned away, and took a 
path that led down to the river. 


Observing this, Boyd arose and took a 
path that intersected the path that led down 
to the river. As a result he was enabled to 
ask Evadne what she intended to do that 

" Nothing/* said Evadne, sulkily* " Yes, 
you can take me on the river. You'll haw 
to do all the work/* 

"Delighted/' said Boyd. "You shall 
have nothing to flo but talk/" 

' I'm not going to talk. I'm going to 

*' Right. Let me fetch your book for 

' You caV r i9 ir Wi r ?oft[otten the name of 


Barry Pain 

8 7 . 

it. I'H get it myself and join you at the 

Her expression was still distinctly sullen 
as she stretched herself on the cushions of 
the punt and without a word to Boyd began 
to read " Saracinesca." 

" Which way shall we go ? " asked Boyd. 

" Don't care. And please don't keep on 
interrupting me." 

For .some ten minutes they went on in 
silence. Suddenly Evadne looked up from 
her book and said, angrily : — 

" Must you keep us in the sun all the 
time ? Do get into the bank in the shade 
somewhere. It's much too hot, anyhow." 

Boyd was not really responsible for the 
fact that the earth is at its nearest point 
to the sun in early July, and that the tem- 
perature rises accordingly, but he was quite 
prepared to be blamed for that or anything 
else, and to take it smiling. 

"Certainly," said Boyd, cheerfully. "Great 
idea." And a few moments later the boat 
glided gently into the shade of the willows 
and Boyd shipped his sculls. 

Evadne reacts — or appeared to read — for 
two minutes longer* Then she sat up, and 
deliberately hurled the book as far as she 
could from her into the water. 

Boyd laughed. " Shall I go in and 
fetch it ? " 

" No, you idiot. And why don't you talk, 
instead of being so obedient and meek and 
good-tempered ? You've brought us into 
a perfect nest »of flies, too. Give me a 

He gave her a cigarette and lighted it for 
her. " Really," he said, " you ought not to 
hurl the works of Henry James into the river. 
It's irreverent. What did you do it for ? " 

" It's your fault. You wouldn't quarrel 
with me." 

" With you ? Never." 

" Well, then, I had to. do something, hadn't 
I ? It's rather a pity, because it was Clare's 
book really, and she may have wanted to 
read it." 

" That's all right. I'll get another copy. 
Clare will never know anything about it. 
And now tell me what's the matter this 

There was a pause and then an outburst. 

" Never again will I stay at the house of a 
relative — never ! I'd have made an excuse 
to leave to-day, if I hadn't been going to- 
morrow in any case. Relatives always 
presume. They think they can say absolutely 
anything they like to you, and tell you it's 
for your good, and that you've got to put 
up with it." 

" But your cousin, Mrs. Anstruther, is 
very fond of you. She told me so." 

" Amy fond of me ? I thought so once. 
But you should have heard her in my room 

last night. She implied that I was a cat 
and had no conscience. -She said I behaved 
badly to men." 

** You do — to some men — sometimes." 

F)R the first time Evadne smiled. " You 
mean just now ? Yes, I was rather a 
beast. Sorry. Still, that's nothing, is 
it ? What Amy meant was much worse. 
She implied that I lured men on to satisfy 
nv vamty and then threw them over. Yes, 
I'm angry with Amy, but I'm much more 
angry with Mr. Mollinson. I'll never know 
why he proposed to me. Unless he's abso- 
lutely insane, he can't have supposed it 
would be any good. And then he goes 
bleating about my cruelty, to Amy and 
sets her on to me. A lot <Jf good it will 
do him ! " 

" You're sure he spoke to Mrs. Anstruther 
about you ? " 

" Must have. She didn't mention his 
name — probably the coward asked her not 
to — but I guessed what had happened easily 
enough. Otherwise, why should she have 
lectured me ? I'm twenty years old and I 
won't be lectured. Amy's married and I'm 
not, but she's not so much older than I am. 
I call it cheek. Oh, how I hate everybody ! " 

" Curious," said Boyd. " It was last 
night that Mrs. Anstruther was speaking 
to me about you." 

" I suppose she told yc>u I was vain, cruel, 
and selfish, and tried to set you against me ? " 

" On the contrary, she sang your praises. 
She said that she loved to have you staying 
with her, and that she thought you such an 
excellent companion for Clare." 

" Really true ? " 

" Word of honour." 

" You think I ought not to quarrel with 

" Well, quarrels between relatives are 
generally pretty silly. Besides, what would 
you do about the rest of the family ? I 
thought Anstruther was rather a favourite 
of yours." 

" Bob ? He's a perfect old dear, of 
course. And I love Clare. I believe I love 
Amy, too, when she's nice. But I'm not 
going to forgive Mr. Mollinson, though." 

"Oh, Willie Mollinson must look * after 
himself — not that it's a thing he's particu- 
larly good at. He's the most nervous man 
I ever met. Still, I've known him for 
years, and he's not a bad sort. Rather 
learned, and collects all manner of wonderful 

" He's not going to collect me." 

" I never thought he would, or that you 
ever gave him the slightest reason for 
thinking he would. I'll tell Mrs. Anstruther 
so if I get the chance." 

" I wishDjicwrinciild. And I'll be quite 



A New Comedy of Errors 

by Google 

-Origin a l from 

Barry Pain 


sweet to Amy — I will, really. You've got 
me out of my black mood and made me 
happy again. You're too good to me. 

Impulsively she held out both her hands 
to him, and he held them for a minute in his 

Soon afterwards they returned to the 
house. Evadne was in the best spirits now, 
and charming with everybody. Mrs. Ans- 
truther took Boyd aj>art. 

" So much obliged to you for getting 
Evadne out of her tantrums. She really is 
too childish. Last- night I gave her a 
friendly hint. I didn't think she was be- 
having fairly to a certain man, unless she 
was seriously fond of him. So this morning 
she treated me with frigid politeness. Rather 
absurd,-* what ? However, we're quite good 
friends again." 

" By the certain man I suppose you mean 

" Goodness, no I Why should I ? They 
were quite friendly, but that was all. Mol- 
linson never •cared seriotisly about her nor 
she about him." 

" S6 I should have said. Now prepare 
for shocks. On the day he left Mollinson 
proposed to- hee and was refused. She 
thought that he* had complained to you about 
her, arid thitt-'wafe" ' the - reason why you 
lectured her. She told me this herself." 

" I don't uftd$*stajrid it. I thought — and 
so did oth£p§^— that he had different views." 

" I felt sure of it, and I would have been 
willing to make a considerable bet that I 
knew what his views were. In fact, he 
practically told me what they were." 

" Then how do you explain it ? '' 

" Willie Mollinson is a good chap, and he 
is full to the neck of Useless knowledge. 
But Willie does not know how to live and 
ought not to be allowed out without a nurse- 
maid and a solicitor, one -on each Side. * So 
after lunch I propose to fun up to' London 
in my little car and see Willie — I'll be back- 
in time for dinner, and I'll bring the explana- 
tion with me." 

And after lunch he carried out this plan 
precisely as arranged, and Evadne", though 
remaining in an angelic ^eltxper, found the 
afternoon rather dull. r * 

WILLIE MOLLINSON was a good-look- 
ing young man wft&se^ appearance 
rather suggested stained glass;" T?e 
had considerable private means, and per- 
haps this was as well, as he also had the 
collecting habit. He collected many things 
and had a special weakness for the auto- 
graphs of the great. That morning at the 
sale of a famous Oriental library he had 
secured a scrap of very old and dis- 
coloured parchment on which was written 

a verse of the Koran — written by the hand 
of Mohammed himself. He regarded it as a 
great prize. Well, it was the thirty-first day 
of the month, and the thirty-first had always 
been a lucky day with him. It was on the 
thirty-first of May -that he had discovered a 
Strad of the finest period — early in the 
eighteenth century. And on the thirty-first 
of the following month one of his dearest 
treasures — a manuscript of Keats — had come 
to him. 

But there are those who remember their 
disadvantages and forget their advantages. 
Possibly the mule owes its traditional bad 
temper to brooding over the fact that its 
mother was an ass, disregarding the brighter 
side of its pedigree. Certainly Willie, as he 
paced his study that afternoon, was medita- 
ting solely on his bad luck. It was not a 
pleasing occupation, and thfc arrival of Boyd 
was a welcome interruption. 

" But what," asked Willie, " brings you up 
from Maidenhead to this sweltering hole ? '' 

"The G.W.R. brought' me, but you are 

" I ? Why, what have I done ? " 

" .Goodness knows ! That's what I have 
come to find out. Now don't wander up 
and down like a caged beast. Sit down and 
let me* put you through it. . You told me 
you wanted to marry Mrs. Anstruther's 
daughter Clare." 

41 I did and I do. So probably does every 
man who has met her." 

" Well, I know one who doesn't — though . 
she'd a nice little girl, very. Go ahead." 

" I happen to know — to know for a fact — 
on good authority — that she won't have me 
and would never have me. That's why I 
cleared out. If I can't marry her I still 
don't want to persecute her." 

" I want to know who the authority was. 
In fact, I want the whole story. It's not 
idle curiosity — I think you have made a 

" Well, I'll tell you. You can't expect a 
nine-carat diamond to have the quality of 
an-eighteen-carat. I'm not like you. You've 
got a dominating eye, and a fierce black 
moustache, and a commanding manner. I, 
on the other hand, am a very nervous man. 
You would have gone straight to Clare and 
blurted out the whole thing." 

"Direct methods are best." 

: ^ " Well, Clare's a mere child. I didn't 

> want to scare her. I thought it better to 

get her accustomed to the idea gradually. 

Now, Evadne Marsh is Clare's best friend. 

They tell one another everything." 

" No girl ever tells anybody everything." 

" Perhaps not everything, but I was quite 
certain that Evadne would know what Clare's 
feelings wen? about me, and also what mv 


A New Comedy of Errors 

" Why ? " 

" WeU, it was obvious that Clare was 
what I was there for. Everybody must 
have known it. So one evening I told 
Evadne I wanted to consult her, and we 
walked out into the garden together. It was 
a lovely evening. There was a young moon 
with one little silvery star in the hollow of 
the crescent. The river stretched " . 

" Cut out the landscape. What, exactly, 
did you say to her ? " 

" I said : ' You must know that I am very 
much in love. Do tell me if I have any 
chance.' " 

" Good heavens I And she ? " 

" Oh, she didn't say much, but it was 
quite decisive. She said it was a pity I'd 
said that, and that I had not the ghost of a 
chance and never would have. And then 
she just turned Feefl4-aad^wept out of the 

" Go on." 

"Well, the next morning I left. What 
else could I do ? " 

" Willie, my son, did it never occur to 
your poor bemused mind that Miss Evadne 
Marsh thought that you were trying to 
propose to her ? " 

" She couldn't." 

" She couldn't do anything else. She may 
have thought that you had gone mad, and 
probably she did, but she must have thought 
that you were trying to make love to her. 
Why, you took everything for granted and 
never even mentioned Clare's name." 

"This," said Willie, gloomily, "is too 
absolutely awful. I can never look Miss 
Marsh in the face again. I can never look 
anybody in the face again — except Clare, 
who understands everything without being 

" Think so ? Well, there's one thing that 
girls have the habit of refusing to understand 
until they're told, and that's the thing you've 
got to tell Clare to-night. Yes, you'll look 
Miss Marsh and lots of other people in the 
face in the course of the evening. I'll just 
ring up Amy Anstruther and say I am 
bringing you back with me." 

It was in vain that Willie protested. 
Boyd had his way. Shortly afterwards 
Willie and a suit-case with provision for the 
night were deposited in Boyd's car, and soon 
after six they were at Mrs. Anstruther's 
house in Maidenhead. 

AT dinner that night the conversation was 

jf^ slightly astronomical, and as a result 

Clare and Willie went out to see if they 

could find Sirius. They took over an hour 

in the search, and on their return did not 

by Google 

claim that it had succeeded, but none the less 
seemed quite pleased with themselves. Mean- 
while, at a meeting of Amy, Evadne, and* Boyd 
the strictest secrecy as to Willie's little 
mistake was agreed upon. And Evadne, 
pressed by Amy, found that after all she 
could remain for another week. 

And next morning, after his engagement 
was announced, Willie fQund that he also 
could extend his visit. But he carried Clare 
off with him to London for the day. He had 
to supplement the resources of the modest 
kit-bag he had brought with him. He had 
to buy a ring. He had also to satisfy his 
desire to give expensive presents to every- 
body. They returned heavily laden. 

The spirit of the collector showed in these 
offerings. The watch for Evadne was an 
exquisite little example of French artistry, 
while the set of old wine-glasses which 
he brought for Mrs. Anstruther had the 
bluish tint that proclaimed their Waterford 

Whereon Bob commented privily to Boyd : 
* They're very nice, and, of course. Amy's 
mad about the old glass. But between you 
and me I'm rather glad they're so priceless 
that they can't be used. I like a pure white 
glass for my '88 port." 

After this Willie practically withdrew from 
society. It might be said of him, as Mark 
Twain said of the " Heathen Chinee," that 
" subsequent proceedings interested him no 
more." His great idea seemed to be to dis- 
appear and take Clare with him. 

And, love being notoriously infectious, it 
is not surprising that one night Evadne in a 
pale blue dressing-gown slipped into her 
aunt's room with great news to impart. 

" Amy," she said, " when you lectured 
me about flirtatiousness the other day, and 
I got the sulks, you couldn't have been 
thinking about Willie, as I supposed then. 
Had you any special man in your mind ? " 

" Of course — Archie Boyd. I thought he 
was seriously fond of you, and that it was 
not fair for you to show him the preference 
you did if you meant nothing by it." 

" Well," said Evadne, with a very poor 
imitation of petulance, " I mean to go on 
showing him preference just the same. 
What's more, I won't be Clare's bridesmaid. 
And " 

But here Amy, who was an observant 
lady and by no means deceived, interrupted 
her with a kiss. 

"I'm so glad, Evadne," she said. " He's 
just the man for you. And I'm glad it's to 
be a double wedding, even if it does make 
you a bride instead of a bridesmaid. And 
now tell me all about it." 

Original from 




A CIRCULAR road, twenty-one miles long, surrounds 
a tract oi wild and desolate country, and on this road 
are six cottages so placed that one cottage or another 

is at a distance of 
one, two, three up 
to twenty miles in- 
clusive from some 
other cottage. 
Thus, Brown may 
be a mile from 
Stiggins, Jones 
two miles from 
Rogers, Wilson 
three miles from 
Jones, and so on. 
Of course, they 
can walk in either 
direction as re- 
quired. Can you 
place the cottages 
at distances that will fulfil these conditions ? The 
illustration is intended to give no clue as to the 
relative distances. 

So much interest ap{)ears to have been taken in 
No. 518, "The Damaged Measure," that I have given 
this extension of it. That puzzle may be solved in, 
at fewest, sixteen different ways. I have sought a 
rule for determining the fewest possible marks for any 
number of inches, and for at once writing out a solution, 
but a general law governing all the multiplicity of 
answers has still to be found. 


A lady went into a shop to make a purchase. 

" I'll have three of the round ones and four of the 
square, please," she said, placing a single coin on the 
counter in exact payment. Then she changed her 
mind, as any lady is entitled to do. 

" On second thoughts I will take four of the round 
ones and three of the squares." 

44 Then that will be a penny more, madam," said the 

I do not know what she was buying, but she spent 
less than a guinea. What was the coin she laid on the 

counter at first ? 


A Canadian lady, Mrs. A. R., sends me the following. 
The first missing word contains two letters, and in each 

successive word a new letter has been added. Of 
course, the letters throughout are not necessarily kept 
in the same order : — 

Oft-times reports * * distant foreign lands 
* * * in the telling grossly magnified, 
Though loud the traveller may * * * * that he 
His doom could scarce ***** on land or tide. 

He tells how he did ****** ujxm some isle. 
No ****** * there to wait and do his will. 
Of thrilling tales by * * * • * * * * of the deep 
E'en pious ********* do take their fill. 

The cinema ********** wild displays, 
*********** bold and deeds of devilry. 
The poorest ************ may be thrilled 
If he but in the ***** * ******* to see. 

It is surprising how the simplest puzzle will some- 
times trip people tip. If you put this little question 
with a smile to a company, as something ridiculously 
easy, nearly everybody will give the wrong answer— 
not the youngsters only. A bottle and cork cost two- 
pence halfpenny, and the bottle cost twopence more 
than the cork. What did the cork cost ? 

534— AN ENIGMA. 
A LARGE number of correspondents inform me that 
the accepted answer, for at least fifty years, to No. 524, 
concerning Noah's Ark and the " sound of boots upon 
the stairs," is : — 

To him who coas, the matter o'er, 

A little thought reveals 
He heard it first who went before 

A pair of soles and eels. 

So my own guess, which I considered unsatisfactory, 
must, I suppose, be accepted as correct. There are 
many slightly different readings of both the puzzle and 
the answer. 

Here is another enigma of the same j>eriod, with an 
answer that everybody will accept : — 

A Bible character without a name, 
Whose body never to corruption came. 
Who died a death that none had died before. 
Whose shroud is found in every household store. 


If 1. P becomes a Q, 1. K— Q 6 ; 2. Q takes Kt P, 
2. K— Q 7 ; 3. Q takes P, 3. P— B 5 ; 4. Q takes P t 
4. K— Q 6 : 5. Q takes K and Black has won. Or 
2. Q takes B P, 2. K— Q 5 ; 3. Q takes K, 3. P— Kt 3, 
etc., and Black wins. If 1. P becomes B, the same as 
first variation above. If 1. P becomes Kt, 1. P— Kt 3 ; 
2. Kt takes P, 2. P— B 5 ; 3. Kt takes P, 3. P— R 4 : 
4. Kt takes P, 4* K— K 6 ; 5. Kt— Kt 7, 5. K— K 5 ; 
6. Kt— R 5 or Q 8, 6. K— K 4 or Q 5 accordingly, and 

Black gives up his K next 
becomes K, 1. K — Q 6; 2, 
3. K takes P, 3. K— Kt 4 ; 
5. K takes P, and Black 
win' by 1. P becomes R, 1. 
2. P— R 4 ; 3. R takes P, 
P, 4. K-Q 7 ; 5. R-Kt 
Q B 4, 6. K— K 8 ; 7. 
force the Black K into th 
his R 


u I I I '.' I II 

move and wins. If 1. P 

, K takes P, 2. K— B s ; 

4. K takes K, 4. P— B 5 ; 

wins. White can only 

K— Q 6 ; 2. R takes P, 

3. P— Kt 4 ; 4. R takes 

4, 5- K— K 7 ; 6. R- 
R — B 3, and White can 

corner and then sacrifice 


92 Solutions to " Christmas Puzzles at a Club " 

Turn the diagram upside down and then count all 
the squares from White's side of the board — nearest 
to you. (K R 8— K Kt sq.), (K sq.— Q B 8), (Q R sq.— 
K B sq.— Q Xt 8), (Q Kt sq.— Q B sq.— Q R 8— K B 8), 
(Q sq.— K R sq— K 8). This means, taking the last 
bracket as an example, thatjwe exchange the piece on 
. .White's Q square with that on K R square, and then 
exchange the new piece on K R square with that on 
K 8 square. The pawns may be exchanged in four 
moves. Thus, with the nine above, 13 moves -in all 
are sufficient. But if you set up the* board the 
other way round you will require 15 moves ! That 
was another point they overlooked. 


The smallest odd number is ELEVEN. If you take 
from it an even number (of letters), two, then EVEN 



He could ride 1 mile in 3? minutes, or fa mile per 
minute. The wind would help or retard him to the 
extent of fa mile per minute. Therefore with the wind 
he could ride fa mite per minute, and against the wind 
fa mile per minute ; that is, 1 mile in 3 minutes or 
4 minutes respectively, as stated. 

Taking the inner circle as the given circle, from any 
point on it mark off 
Coequal to A B.(an 
equilateral triangle), 
f rom B and C simi- 
larly find D, and 
from B and D find 
the point E. Now 
describe^ the : larger 
circle through E, and 
wijh the radius A.E 
mark off* round it 
from E^ the remain- 
ing Jive points. "You 
can then draw, your 
six circlesfrdm these points on the largercircle. 

It is important to notice that the man, baby, and 
dog weigh. together. 1 8oIb., as recorded on the dial in 
the illustration. Now, the difference between 180 and 
162 is .18, which equals twice the weight of the dog, 
whose weight is ojb.- Therefore the baby weighs 
30th., since 30 less 70 per cent, is 9. 

' The" word is BRIGHTFACED. 

1 The one-lettei words, P and g, must be taken from a, 
I, and o, and p cannot be A because the second word 
begins with a vowel, while it is unlikely to be 0. If we 
make P equals J, and g equals a. t\\tn we can assume 
the sentence begins " I am,!' in Which case kz will be 
" me " or " my "—^probably " my," because then 
rigz would end in " ay." Call this last " say," since 
then pn will be " is." Now, either e or t in et must 
be o or u, but as we know that the second letter in y, the e is most probably a consonant. 
Make t stand for o; then we immediately get et 
equals " to." We now have the following, where the 
dots stand for. letters not yet found-: " I am so. .y to 
jsay my is a t .00. ' Here " : sorry " and 


" typist " are seen at a glance, and then we havtf-tlfe, p 
and f "for " perfect," which gives us the f for " foci.*' 

At the start of play Andrews held a half-sovereign 
and a shilling, Baker held a crown and a florin, 'and 
Carey held a double florin and a half-crown. After 
settlement, .Andrews held double florin and florin. 
Baker the half-sovereign and half-crown, and Carey 
held crown and shilling. Thus, Andrews lost 5s., 
Carey lost 6d., and Baker won 5s. 6d. The selection 
of the coins is obvious, but their allotment xequires a 
little judgment 
and trial. 



The illustra- 
tion indicates 
how we may 
show a recti- 
linear square 
with four 
pennies. The 
sides of the 
square are the 
lines beneath 


The multiplier must be 3, 6, or 9, to produce all the 
nine digits in product. If 3, the. last figures, must jbe 
510; if 6, they must be 210; 410^ or 8x0 ; -and <T*s 
found impossible as a multiplier. 'V^e cannot have 
194 x 6= 164; because the other JFaV'the 1 beginning 
cannot be ^9 with^ the /multiplier^ 6. Also' i8x 6 and 
78x6 are. -impossible because ftou cannot get tjie 
repeating H in third place. - WetWefowelcnowtHat :N 
and S stand for^i,ando respectively. This is where 
the "low cunning " comes in. Hie letters are not tjie 
first ten in the alphabet, so one could pretty safety 
guess that they were selected to form a word, like die 
tradesman's private-mark key, .each letter in order 
having the numerical value of its position. If so, it .is 

N S. We are soon able to find the key?wofd 

123 4,5 67890 " • 

and then we get the answer at once : — 1 




The illustratierj shows dearly how the letters may 

be piuc £ cV ERS | TY op MICHIGAN 




If you will make an effort to qualify for a responsible 
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When we undertake to train 
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Six Jo twelve months is the 

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Facts that are more 
wonderful than fiction 

Recently si " truest iunnai re '" *as sent 
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asking fur definite answers lu the fallow- 
ing three questions : — 

(a) What was yvur Busineii Paxi- 
Hen at date of tt&vr enrol- 
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(bj What is your Business Position 
to-day t 

(c) To what extent annually ktts 
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enrolled as a Student of 
the School f 

The information obtained revealed an 
unbroken list of really fine successes, 
noting ht m— 

200-8 00% Increases in 
Salary achieved within 12 
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Read for yourself a few of the answers 
received ; — 

1 + 
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(ft) Professional Public Accountant 
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[a] Junior Clerk to Chartered Ac- 
(h) Chartered Accountant 
(c) 800 per cent increase 

(a) General Clerk 
(t) Assistant Accountant 
(r) 200 per cent increase 

{a) Clerk 

(ft) (i en era I Manager 
( r ) I ha v e n ow mo re than 10 ti m eh the 
salary [had when 1 first en roth. -i] 

The originals of these " Question* 
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Darid Pater son. Chartered Aiiwmn- 
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who certifies that that/ are genuine* 

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ll Rives particulars 
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The School of Accountancy 

2 t West Regent St., GLASGOW. 10 t E«m St, Strand, LONDON, W.CX 

Militate Buildinj*. L*n* MiHfate, MANCHESTER 

Poit Office Ho ww, Infirmary Street LEEDS 

r of Booklet advertised in *" *Che St fan* 
It, W2I. 

name .,. . j QrJgiaa I; from .... 


62, Dsl* Strat. LIVERE 3 OOL 

P^oje Knd me free and pant free copy o) 

Z\t opaline" February, 792/. 





Feb., 1 92 1. 

by Google 

Original from 







FBRITTM/fflSriN \ 


IF ev^r a man was emphatically and 
* articulately thankful that the war was 
over and that he could return to the 
comfortable if humdrum ways of peace, 
that man was myself. The contrast of my 
quiet, cool office in London town after 
three years of the heat, dust, and flies of 
Mesopotamia was inexpressibly grateful to 
me. And although my military service, 
thanks to my job on the staff, was certainly 
not only far more interesting but accom- 
panied by infinitely less hardship than the 
experiences of most of my comrades, I told 
myself, as once more I took my seat in my 
mahogany and red morocco private room, 
that I had had enough adventure for a life- 
time^. Nothing would induce me — I re- 
member my father's nod of satisfaction as 
I said it ; he felt that he could safely resign 
the management of the business into my 
hands — nothing would induce me, short of 
extreme national danger, to quit the solid 
comfort of three meals a day and the club at 
the end of it for that fallacious lure of the 
unexplored' horizon which had thrown so 
strong a spell over me. when I had volun- 
teered at the beginning of the war. And I 
believed myself. I did not even feel the 
pull, as did so many of those who fought in 
the war, of those old battlefields of France 
and Belgium, so familiar to me in iqi 5. 

Vol IxL— 7 Copyright, io?x, liy 

Sometimes, it is true, I thought, of a few. of 
my old comrades and speculated on what 
had happened to them, but I kept in touch 
with none. .The war faded into a dream- 
memory, remote from actuality. 

Remote though it was, nevertheless when 
one day my clerk tapped at the door and 
brought in two cards, inscribed respectively 
Richard Franks and Heiiry Jefferson, I had 
an instant vision of two dirty, haggard flying- 
officers standing before me in my. map-hung 
office in the old palace at Mosul. Their 
machine had crashed whilst on reconnais- 
sance over thie mountain-range of the Jebel 
Abjad, and they had escaped to our lines only 
after miraculous and hair-raising adventures 
sufficient to fill a book. .My report of the 
valuable information they had brought back 
had contributed not a little to their. pro- 
motion. I smiled at the memory of the two 
cool-headed young daredevils, who had 
narrated their thrilling experiences as though 
they, were the most ordinary thing in the 

V Show them in," I said, as I rose from my 
seat to welcome them. 

' T recognized at once, despite the ,disgtiise 
of their civilian clothes, the two young men 
who came rather diffidently into my room. 
Obviously they were awed by the unfamiliar 
surroundings af commerce. 

" Good morning, Major," said Franks, a 

F. Britten Austin. 


The Treasure of the Tombs 

tall, thin young fellow with an aquiline nose 
on a determined face oddly out of keeping 
with his nervous manner. One would never 
have imagined that, single-handed, in what 
he called a " dog-fight/' he had brought 
down three German machines attached to 
the Turkish army. 

'* 'Morning, Major," ventured Jefferson, 
sententiously, evidently not less nervous. 
He was younger than Franks — not more 
than twenty-two or three, a mere boy, fair- 
haired and blue-eyed, the typical stripling 
who, in thousands, manned and fought 
England's air-fleets during the war. I 
noticed that, despite the prejudices of his 
kind, he carried a somewhat bulky brown- 
paper parcel. 

" Good morning, both of you," I responded 
heartily, genuinely gratified by their visit. 
They brought into my work-a-day office a 
touch of the past which seemed pleasantly 
romantic in the retrospect. " Glad to see 
you 1 Sit down." They subsided rather 
sheepishly into the nearest chairs. I held 
oat my cigarette-case. " What's the news ? 
Anything I can do for you ? " 

They helped themselves to cigarettes and 
then looked at each other in embarrassment, 
each evidently hoping the other would take 
upon himself the task of opening their 

Finally they both spoke at once. 

" The fact is, Major " 

" We want you to lend us three thousand 
pounds ! " 

They both stopped. Franks" frowned at 
Jefferson in deprecation of this bluntly un- 
diplomatic approach. 
.1 laughed. 

" Three thousand pounds ! That's a tall 
order, young gentlemen." I felt old enough 
to be their father, and had some difficulty 
in keeping my countenance as I looked at 
their deadly-serious young faces. " What 
do you want with three thousand pounds ? " 

There was another pause of embarrassed 
silence, and then Jefferson nudged his senior. 

" You tell him, Dicky ! " he said, in a 
hoarse whisper. " You can explain things." 

DICKY FRANKS flushed and his brow 
corrugated for a moment of concen- 
trated thought. Then he dived a hand 
into his breast-pocket and fished out a map 
which I recognized at once as of Army 
origin. In fact, as he unfolded it, it proved 
to be our old staff map of the Mosul area. 
The young fellow looked up at me and 
cleared his throat. 

" You remember. Major, that Jefferson 
and I crashed one day in the Jebel Abjad — 
in 1918 ? " 
I smiled. 
" Perfectly. If my mem' 

I got both you harum-scarum young devils a 
decoration for that — not to mention another 


Franks nodded acquiescence, his face 

" You did. Major. Well " he hesi- 
tated, fumbling for an opening — " the fact 
is we didn't tell you quite the true story 
about that stunt " He paused, moisten- 
ing his lips in his nervousness. 

" What do you mean ? " I asked. I am 
afraid there was a sharp severity in my 
voice. I had an unpleasant vision of having 
been made a fool of, of having recommended 
these two young devils on an utterly fictitious 
story. It flashed into my mind that they 
had come to me, conscience-stricken, to 
confess. " Didn't you crash way back in 
the Jebel Abjad as you said you did ? " 

Franks's smile relieved me. 

" Oh, yes, we crashed right enough, 
Major — but not exactly as we said we did. 
AD we told you was true. Only we left 
some of it out." 

Young Jefferson ' wagged his head in 
emphatic corroboration. 

" That's it, Major. . There's soqie of it we 
didn't want to tell just then. And we've 
come to tell you now." 

Franks threw a glance admonitory of 
caution towards his companion. 

" Yes," he said, a certain reluctance in his 
voice, as though afraid to givq himself away 
too quickly. " We want to tell you the 
whole story, Major — but first I — we — want 
you to promise that whatever happens you 
won't mention a word of it to anyone else. 
That's only fair, isn't it, Harry ? " He 
turned to young Jefferson for support. 

" We know we can trust you, Major," 
interjected Jefferson. 

" Of course you can ! " I said, seating 
myself again in my chair and lighting my own 
cigarette. " I'll keep your confidence, what- 
ever it is. Fire away — and cut out the 
' Major ' ! I'm a civilian, and my name's 
Ogilvy." My smile was intended to put 
both of them at their ease. 

Franks took up his storv, reassured. 

"Well, Major— sorry— Mr. Ogilvy," he 
smiled at his automatic slip — " we came 
down twice on that stunt in the Jebel 
Abjad " 

" Twice ? " I queried, in surprise. " You 
only mentioned once in your report to me." 

" I know, Major — Mr. Ogilvy," said Franks. 
" That's the point. It's the other time 
we've come to tell vou about now." 

" Go ahead," I said. " I'm listening." 

" Well, the details of that flight don t 
matter," he resumed, playing nervously with 
the open map on his knees as he spoke. 
" You reniemT:ex we'd got a roving commie- 
» oyer the Jelbel Abjad— reconnaissan* e 

F. Britten Austin 


to see if old Johnny Turk had tucked him- 
self away in any of the valleys. It was 
top-hole weather for observation — clear as 
possible — but we flew all the morning 
without a sign of the Turk. 

" We circled round to the north-west for 
a bit before making for home, and searched 
up and down the cracks of those mountains 
pretty thoroughly. Suddenly we saw all 
round us one of those big ugly thunderstorms 
which spring up from nowhere in no time 
among the mountains. It was a rotten place 
to be caught in. We were about the middle 
of the range and following a valley, the 
machine a thousand feet or so below the 
summits on both sides. I put her nose up 
at once — and just as we were climbing out 
of the hole we were in, the confounded old 
bus missed fire ! The engine stopped dead. 
Just the sort of thing that would happen, 
of course, in a thunderstorm on top of a 
mountain range ! 

' I saw the barograph needle switch round 
as we dropped — and I tell you I thought it 
was all up with us. We were already once 
more below the summit of the mountain on 
our left. The valley bottom was boulders. 
Suddenly I saw that a broad ledge projected 
from the flank of the mountain, a terrace 
two or three hundred yards wide. It was 
almost below us as I spotted it — an unob- 
structed stretch of smooth rock. I made 
for it instinctively — there was no time to 
think — the second flash of lightning flickered 
all over the machine. I put her down to it, 
and just as the rain came down on us in 
bucketfuls we touched and taxied along the 
ledge. I swerved round to get her head to 
wind against the gust that blew back from 
the mountain-side, and pulled her up by a 

•' We jumped out, lightning blazing all 
round us and rain coming down like a 
thousand waterfalls. It seemed a pretty 
hopeless place for shelter — and shelter at that 
minute was worth our next leave, and that's 
saying something in Mespot. Suddenly, 
straight ahead of us, I spotted the mouth 
of a cave. We both dashed for it like rabbits 
to a hole. 

* I T was a cave all right, and there we were, 
J sheltered from the storm, with the light- 
ning playing all over our machine outside. 
Our chances of ever getting back again looked 
pretty slim at that moment, I don't mind 
admitting. If the old bus was struck we 
hadn't an earthly of ever getting down from 
that mountain. We looked at each other 
in the lightning flashes, and we both got the 
idea to explore the cave to take our minds off 
the unpleasant possibilities outside. 

41 It was a big lofty hole, that cave, and 
the first thing that hit both of us was that 

its sides had been smoothed by human hands. 
The chisel marks were still visible. That 
was surprising enough, for the place seemed 
absolutely inaccessible. Of course, it 
occurred to both of us that if people had 
taken the trouble to climb up here to 
smooth the walls of a cave they must have 
had some pretty good reason for doing so. 
We'd both got electric torches in our tunics 
and we set out to find that reason. 

" It didn't take us long. Twenty or 
thirty yards inside that cave were three 
enormous tombs — sarcophagi, don't you call 
them ? — supported on pedestals of squared 
stone. They were carved all over with 
figures and covered with roof-like slabs of 
solid rock. At least, two of them were. We 
saw at once that we weren't the first to 
discover those tombs. Someone had been 
there before us. The slab on the nearest 
one had been prised off sideways — and 
underneath the edge of it was a skeleton 
with an iron bar alongside. Evidently, just 
as he had got the slab off, it had fallen on him 
and killed him. 

" I tell you we felt pretty excited as we 
climbed up the pedestal and flashed our 
torches inside that tomb. The original 
occupant was still there all right — at least, 
bits of his skeleton were. But that wasn't 
what interested us. There were heaps of 
broken ornaments and things round that 
skeleton, and the body rested on a bed of 
what we first thought were neat little bricks. 
Look .!," He extracted a small bar from his 
pocket and handed it to me. " What do you 
make of that ? " 

I took it curiously. It was heavy yellow 

" By Jove ! " I exclaimed. *' This is solid 
gold I " I turned it over in my fingers and 
saw upon one of its small ends an embossed 
oval cartouche filled with hieroglyphic 
figures. " You've come across the burial 
treasure of some old Assyrian king, my 
lads ! " I am naturally of an unenthusiastic 
temperament, but I utterly failed to control 
the excitement which leaped up in me. 
" What an extraordinary adventure ! " 

Franks nodded gravely. 

" What do you reckon that is worth ? " 
he asked. 

I balanced it in my hand. It weighed very 
nearly a couple of pounds. 

" About a hundred and fifty pounds 
sterling, I should say," I' hazarded. 

" Then, Major — Mr. Ogilvy — there's a 
hundred and fifty thousand pounds' worth 
of gold in that tomb alone ! We counted 
the top layer of bricks, and there were 
about two hundred — and we estimated that 
there were at least five layers of them. 
They're all the same size. Jefferson here 

has trffeiTY OF MICHIGAN 


The Treasure of the Tombs 

Young Jefferson pulled oijt a gold brick 
from his pocket also. It was identical with 
the first. I put them side by side on my 
4 '•' I suppose you stuffed your pockets full ? " 
I said, highly interested and a little envious. 
" Lucky young beggars ! " 

The pair of them looked sheepishly at each 
other. Then Franks laughed. 

•* Well— to tell the truth, Major — all of a 
sudden we both got wind up. A most 
horrible moaning sound came from some- 
where out of the darkness of that cave. It 
was most uncanny, especially with that 
skeleton pinned under the slab. We didn't 
stop to think. We both cut and ran for the 
entrance, scared out of our lives. All we got 
was the one brick each we had slipped into 
our pockets and a lump of stone broken off 
the slab which Jefferson was holding when 
we heard the noise." 

Jefferson undid his parcel. 

*' If ERE it is," he said, passing it over 

|~ J to me. Part of a winged bull re- 
mained on the fragment, which was 
incised with characters unknown to me but 
obviously of great antiquity. 

" What happened next ? " I asked. 

" Well— the storm had ceased. It was 
bright sunshine outside and neither of us 
felt like going into that dark cave again. 
Our nerVeS Were all to pieces. We tinkered 
up the old engine-^-it was only a choked jet— '- 
and took off from that ledge just as quick as 
might be." 

- You left the treasure ? " I did n6t 
conceal xiiy surprise. 

Jefferson laughed boyishly. 

'* 1 guess you would have left it too, just 
then, Major," he said. *' That infernal tooan 
was no k)ke — I know I turned over pretty 
queer inside me when I heard it. * It seemed 
to go right through you. tfgh ! " he shud- 
dered. '* I suppose we were a bit tuned up 
just then," he added, in self -apology. 4 ' We'd 
had & near shave* before we got on that 

' Go on," I said, nodding my appreciation 
of their feelings. " What next ? " 

-*• That's all. You know the rest of it," 
said Franks. '* Just as we were getting ctear 
of the mountain the engine gave out again 
and we crashed properly. Everything else 
happened just as we reported it." 

" And the gold is still there ? " 
• " So far as we know. We never had a 
chance to go back." Franks got up from 
his seat, came across to my desk, and spread 
out the map. He put his finger on an inked 
cross in the middle of the brown intricacy 
of the mountain-ranges. It looked a most 
inaccessible spot. " Here's the place ! " he ' 
saH " T*Mnk of it ! Pretty nearly half a 

million pounds' worth of solid gold waiting 
for us ! Worth trying for, isn't it, Major ? " 

" You are assuming that the other tombs 
also contain an equivalent amount," I said, 
damping down his enthusiasm in an effort 
to control sudden wild fancies of my own. 
" And you don't realize the difficulties. 
The place could only be reached by a long 
and most dangerous expedition. All that 
country is worse than ever since the Armis- 
tice. It is inhabited by wild Kurds who 
would make a virtue of cutting your throats. 
Besides, from your description, it would be 
no easy mountaineering feat to climb up to 
that ledge." 

1 Next door to impossible, I should say/* 
agreed Franks, cheerfully. " I can't imagine 
how the poor devil who was crushed under 
the slab ever got there — or how they put 
the tombs there, for that matter. Perhaps 
there has been a landslide since. No man 
could climb to that ledge now, that's certain." 

" Then how do you propose to get there ? " 
I asked. 

The two young men smiled at each other 
in amusement at my simplicity. 

" By aeroplane, 6i course ! " they said, in 
one breath. 

" So that's why you want my three 
thousand pounds ? " My smile was not so 
cynical as I intended it to be. The\ fascina- 
tion of the thing had already got' a greater 
hold over me than I realized. 

It was. Breathlessly, both of them speak- 
ing at once, they informed me that they had 
found the ideal machine-*— an ex- Army boniber 
designed to carry four tons of explosives 
and fitted for a flight to India that had been 
given up at the last moment. It had a 
saloon in which we — they included' me in 
the expedition with an amazingly calm as- 
sumption of my assent — Could sleep comfort- 
ably and get our meals. It would lift easily 
the cargo of gold — three tons they reckoned 
it to be^and had a petrol capacity sufficient 
for the journey. They offered me a third 
share of the treasure if I would finance the 
expedition. Apparently, also, they had set 
their hearts upon my accompanying them. 

" Not so fast," I protested. " I've got a 
business I can't leave." 

'" You take holidays sometimes, don't 
you ? " countered Franks. " We shall be 
back again inside a fortnight." 

The upshot of it all was that, when at the 
end of an hour they left me, they carried off 
with them my cheque for two thousand 
pounds for the immediate purchase of that 
aeroplane, and I — definitely committed to 
what in solitude I now saw to be a mad 
adventure — sat in my chair, puffing at my 
pipe, and staring at the mysterious in- 
scription incised upon the slab of stone. Of 

couree dtvfeiW*^ffe[5° me - but l 

F. Britten Austin 


He extracted a small bai (torn his pocket and handed it to me, ' By Jove I * 1 exclaimed. 

' This is solid gold|tM "i ' 



The Treasure of the Tombs 

could not help a considerable curiosity as 
to its meaning. I felt rather grimly that at 
least it would be satisfying to know whose 
tomb it was that we were proposing to 

It occurred to me to take it up to the 
Assyrian Department of the British Museum, 
and then a happier thought followed upon 
the heels of the first. McPherson at the 
club ! If anyone could decipher that in- 
scription, it would be old Mac ! He had 
devoted the best part of his life to Assyrian 
archaeology. I wrapped up that slab of 
stone in Jefferson's brown paper, and five 
minutes later I was in a taxi on my way to 
the club. 

McPherson was there sure enough. I went 
straight to my point and, without telling 
him how this fragment came into my hands, 
I opened my parcel and asked him if he 
could decipher the inscription. He took it 
with the eager interest of the man of science 
presented with a new specimen, pored it 
over as he twisted it in his hands, nodded 
his head vigorously. 

" A very interesting piece, Mr. Ogilvy ! " 
he said. " Most interesting ! The British 
Museum would be real glad of it. Where did 
you get it ? " 

" Never mind where I got it," I replied. 
" Can* you read the inscription ? " 

" Easily, man ! Easily ! " he said. " There 
is no difficulty whatever about it. It is 
mutilated — incomplete, of course. But what 
is there is plain as print I It is in the usual 
cuneiform character — the middle Assyrian 
variety. I should say it dates from about 
1500 B.C." 

" Interpret, O Sage ! " said I. 

He adjusted his spectacles and, following 
the nail-shaped characters from left to right 
with his finger, translated as follows : — 

" I, Sarchon, King of Kings, son of Nimrot, 
King of Kings, lying in this tomb, say, 
- Come not to open this tomb. He who 
shall remove the stone that covers me shall 
die and in the grave find not repose, neither 
shall the sun shine upon him nor his kindred 
know his fate.' That's all," said McPherson, 
looking up at me through his spectacles. 
" The inscription is broken at that point/' 

" You read it like a book 1 " I said, in 

" Pooh ! " he replied. " 'Tis easy enough. 
It presents no points of difficulty. There are 
hundreds of inscriptions like that. This 
happens to be a king's, that's all. The 
interest is in the name of the monarch. 
Otherwise it is quite commonplace." 

•I thought of the skeleton lying pinned under 
the slab in that dark cave. 

" Is it?" I said, with an emphasis which 
made him look curiously at me. 

He gave me an odd smile. 

" Be careful how you go digging about 
in those tombs, young man," he said. 

Unwilling to expose myself to the inquiries 
obviously on the tip of his tongue, I made 
an excuse to cut short the conversation. 
But, as I went out of the club, I felt that my 
enthusiasm for the adventure had consider- 
ably evaporated. I could not help seeing 
that confounded skeleton with the iron bar 
beside him. 


I WILL not here dwell upon the details 
of our preparations for the flight. Suffice 
it that within a week Franks and 
Jefferson had flown the aeroplane over to 
the grounds of the country place near 
London which I had recently purchased. In 
the absence of a hangar, firmly secured 
tarpaulins protected it at once from the 
weather and the curiosity of the local in- 
habitants. So far as my unskilled eye could 
judge, it was a beautiful machine, eminently 
suited for our purpose. She carried fuel 
enough in her tanks for a fifty-hour flight, and 
more could be stowed in the interior. Her 
water-tank contained two hundred gallons of 
that vital necessity* in the desert. There was 
ample storage capacity for all the provisions 
we should require. The two young men 
were in ecstasies of enthusiasm over her, 
but I confess that, novice as I was in this 
form of travel, it was with considerable awe 
that I stood under the vast spread of her 
wings and looked up to the cabin which was 
to carry us, high above the clouds, those 
thousands of miles to the mountains beyond 
the Mesopotamian desert which seemed, 
here in this English countryside, fantasti- 
cally unreal in their remoteness. 

But during the next two weeks there was 
little time for brooding. The die was cast. 
I could not decently turn back if I would, 
and I will confess that sometimes the fascina- 
tion of our adventure gripped me as strongly 
as it did the two young pilots. We kept 
our project as quiet as possible. Those 
official inquiries which could not be avoided 
we satisfied with the story of an independent 
flight to India. 

Our route was mapped out in easy stages 
— six hundred and fifty miles to Marseilles 
for the first day, six hundred to Messina, 
eight hundred to Alexandria. Thence, push- 
ing boldly to the north-east, we might, by 
starting at dawn, make the final one thousand 
three hundred miles to our destination in 
one flight if circumstances were favourable. 
If not, we could come down in the desert for 
one night. Franks and Jefferson, of course, 
proposed to fly the machine in alternate 
shifts. My rdle was that of cook and steward. 
Naturally, in view of possible trouble with 
the desert trilbe^, sticniidl we descend among 
them, wo provided ourselves vrith arms and 

F. Britten Austin 


ammunition, in addition to the implements 
necessary for breaking open the other tombs. 

At last all was ready. I shall never forget 
the thrill with which, in the fresh brightness 
of an English summer morning, I saw the 
great machine, stripped of her last coverings, 
poised on the greensward in waiting for the 
start. Franks was already at his post in the 
pilot's seat, and first one, then the other of 
her engines whirred in a deep-toned roar as 
he tested them, flattening the grass in the 
wind under the propellers. Jefferson was 
clambering over the wings in a final examina- 
tion of every stay and strut. I climbed up 
the ladder into the interior. My butler, 
gloomy in disapproval of these newfangled 
contraptions, but dutifully resolved to be 
with me until the last moment, pulled away 
the ladder and shouted " Good-bye, sir," in 
a tone strongly suggestive of an eternal 
farewell. I saw him dodge back out of the 
wind of the accelerated propellers. " Right 
away ! " shouted Jefferson, cheerfully, clam- 
bering from the wing into the interior. 

The engines leaped to a synchronized 
deafening roar. Through the windows I 
saw the grass flit past, drop away from us. 
The trees around my house sank suddenly — 
we were up ! House and trees twirled away 
from us as-we climbed in a long sweep over 
the foreshortened figure of the butler waving 
his valedictions. They reappeared again, 
far below us, tiny like toys. Then they 
slipped back out of vision, left behind. We 
roared over a patchwork of miniature fields, 
bound — it was almost inconceivable — over 
distant lands and seas for the vast spaces of 
the desert and those long-talked-of mountains 
which loomed, like a mirage in my imagina- 
tion, beyond its yellow immensity. 


MOSUL, white among its verdure, on the 
nearer bank of the blue Tigris forking 
about its islands, showed up ahead of 
us. On the other side of the stream, plainly 
discernible, were the mounds which covered 
aJl that remained of the glory of ancient 
Nineveh — the city where perhaps, thirty-five 
centuries ago, had been hammered into shape 
those gold bricks which had lured us tail the 
way from the heart of a distant Empire 
greater even than that which here had once 
been the ultimate of human grandeur. 
Franks and Jefferson grinned at each other 
as they glanced down at the white mosque 
and took a bearing over the confused mass 
of wooded foothills to the north and east of 
Mosul towards a stupendous snow-clad peak 
— the Judi Dagh, I remembered its name — 
which towered in the distance above the 
endless chaos of sternly rugged mountains 
stretching far and wide and reaching back, 
to the limits of vision, into the recesses of 

Persia. I stood behind the two lads in the 
pilot-chamber, straining my eyes towards 
our destination. In which of those cleft 
gorges was hollowed the tomb of the three 
kings on their lofty terrace ? 

We sped onwards. Beyond the first range 
of mountains a valley dipped itself into a 
bowl of green where white houses twinkled 
among the trees — Amadiyah 1 We soared 
over it, swung to the north-west and then to 
the west, towards another wilderness of hills. 
Our pilots were following their original course. 
A silence as of death seemed to brood over this 
sterile desolation of crag and boulder. The 
roar of our engines re-echoed from it with an 
alien sound as we dipped below the summits 
in scrutiny of one valley after another. 

Suddenly Jefferson pointed ahead of us, 
one hand clutching at the shoulder of his 
comrade seated at the controls. " There it 

I looked, with a thrill of excitement. 
There in front of us, a thousand feet or more 
below the summit of the mountain, but 
thousands of feet above the bed of the 
sombre ravine which dropped away from it 
in a sheer precipice, was a long, broad 
terrace, obviously artificial. We swung 
round above it, commenced a cautious 
descent. It would be no joke to be caught in 
a sudden air-flurry in such a place. The 
roar of the engines ceased suddenly. An 
uncanny silence enveloped us with their 
cessation. None of us spoke. I could feel 
my heart beating in my breast* Our nose 
went down and the rock rushed up towards 
us, became a wall upon our left hand. Below 
us that smooth terrace, larger and larger 
with every second, rose and broadened. 
The engines started again in a quick brief 
roar which reverberated endlessly after they 
were abruptly stilled. We swung round 
towards the mountain, touched and skimmed 
across the ledge at an angle, slowed with a 
quick turn perpendicular to the wall of rock, 
stopped less than a hundred feet away from 
it. We had arrived 1 

E<E three eager schoolboys we tumbled out 
of the machine, ran along the face of the 
rock. At first glance I noticed what my 
companions, too preoccupied with the storm, 
had failed to observe upon their first visit. 
The precipice which towered above us was 
a picture-gallery of ancient Assyrian art. 
Great winged bulls, eagle-headed human 
figures of colossal size, in flat relief, dominated 
an endless succession of sculptured scenes, 
comparatively miniature, depicting the wars 
and conquests of a vanished empire. 

A shout from Franks, in advance of us, 
told that he had found the entrance to the 
cave. A pair of vast human-headed buHs 
arched their ^ings abave its, £>pening. The 


The Treasure of the Tombs 

three of us stopped at the portal. A sudden 
awe came over us as we peered into its 
obscurity, a feeling of an indefinable presence 
that pervaded the atmosphere. 

" Listen ! " whispered Franks, clutching 
at my arm. 

From the interior came a long weird moan 
that swelled and died away. We sprang 
back, a primitive terror quick upon us. Then, 
as silence once more fell upon that lonely ter- 
race, we crept forward again to the entrance. 

A little wind stirred into whorls the dust 
about our feet as we stood under the archway 
of those mighty wings. Once more the 
weird moan issued drearily from the cave. 
My faculties, heightened with excitement, 
leaped, to an association of ideas. 

•• All right ! " I cried to my companions. 
" All right ! It's nothing to be afraid of ! " 

Those cunning old artificers, of a piece 
with those who had contrived the statue of 
Memnon in Egypt, had hollowed that rock 
to such acoustic properties that a breath of 
wind blowing into it resounded magnified, 
as from a trumpet, in that mysterious moan 
so eminently, calculated to unnerve the least 
superstitious. I explained it to the two lads. 

" All very well," said Franks, " but I 
propose we go back to the old bus and have 
a meal before we risk ourselves in here. We've 
got plenty of time. We shall feel all the 
stronger after we've filled up. What do you 
say, Harry ? " 

" I think so too,'"said Jefferson. " We've 
got to have a meal anyway. And personally 
I want to make the fewest possible visits 
to the inside of this cave and get finished 
with it as soon as may be. It may be only 
the wind, of course. Bpt I don't like it, all 
the same. Besides, we must go back for the 

IT was well that we did so. Eager as we 
were to discover the entrance to the cave, 
we had forgotten to fasten down the aero* 
plane in any way. As we approached it, we 
noticed that it seemed farther from the rock 
wall than we had left it. A moment later a 
gust of wind, reflected from that sculptured 
surface, moved it perceptibly towards the 
sheer gulf a few hundred yards behind it. 
Dicky Franks shamed us both with his 
instant presence of mind. While we stared 
aghast, he darted forward to the machine, 
swung himself up over the lower wing into 
the pilot-compartment, started the engines. 
He taxied her gently back, and Jefferson and 
myself made her fast with ropes to projecting 
points of the rock. 

The young man's face was white as he 
dropped out of the machine and rejoined us. 

" They're trying to kill us ! " he said, 
hoarsely, his voice unsteady with a genuine 

" Nonsense, Dicky ! " I replied. " It was 
just the wind." 

He turned upon me. 

" This wind about here is too confoundedly 
intelligent for my liking ! " he said. " I tell 
you, I've got a feeling " 

" Keep it to yourself, then, my lad ! " I 
said, sharply. " You'll be giving us all cold 
feet in a minute with your sickly imagina- 
tions. We have not flown over three 
thousand miles to this cave to be put off now 
with superstitious fancies." 

" The Major's right, Dicky," said Jefferson. 
" We made up our minds to come back for 
that gold, and here we are. Let's get on 
with it. We'll have a bite of food first — and 
then to work ! " 

Franks remained silent. I could see that 
he was badly shaken. However, as all three 
of us sat in the saloon about our meal he 
recovered his cheerfulness. 

" We shall have to make a camp of it, 
Major," he said. " For to-night at least. 
We can't shift three tons of gold between 
now and dark." 

'* Three tons ! "murmured young Jefferson. 
,f Ye gods ! Three tons of gold — think of 
it ! It's got to be a full-sized ghost that will 
scare me off three tons of gold I" . " • 

Dicky frowned, but made no comment. 

''Yes, we shall certainly have to stay for 
the -night," I agreed. " But we'll get as 
much as possible on board while the dav 

" By all means," said Dicky. *' I'm ready 
as soon as you are. I propose that we start 
first with the tomb that's already opened." 
He hesitated a moment, as though half- 
ashamed of what was in his mind. " By 
the way, Major — have you got the copy of 
that inscription on you ? " His attempt at 
a casual voice was not very successful. 

I looked at him, reproof in my eyes.. But 
he was not -to be diverted. 

" Let me have a look at it, will you ? " he 

I could not very well refuse. I took from 
my pocket the sheet of paper on which I had 
jotted down my memory of McPherson's 
reading of that ominous inscription, and 
handed it to him. 

" I, Sarchon, King of Kings, son of Nimrot, 
King of Kings, lying in this tomb, say : 
* Come not to open this tomb. He who shall 
remove the stone that covers me shall die 
and in the grave find not repose, neither shall 
the sun shine upon him nor his kindred know 
his fate.' " The threat as he read it out, 
calm though was his voice, sounded peculiarly 
awesome in the presence of those ineffably 
placid stone monsters visible through the 
windows of the saloon. Their very silence 
seemed eloqiik-mfc, Dicky looked up from 

thc ^Rf?-ERSlty OF MICHIGAN 

F. Britten Austin 

io 3 

1 The threat, as he read il out, sounded peculiarly awesome m *h« presence of those 
ineffably placid stone monsters visible through the win^ow«- I .€ii r tlverai?roplfine f i saloon/' 

unr* lion rur iviitjtitjm pj 


The Treasure of the Tombs 

" Do you think, Major, that — just sup- 
posing, for example, there were anything in 
this — I don't say--for a moment there is — 
but just supposing — do you think that the 
curse is fulfilled so far as the first tomb is 
concerned ? I've been thinking about that 
skeleton under the slab. If that poor devil 
paid the penalty — it only says ' uncovering 
the tomb/ you know — then we ought to be 
pretty safe in taking the treasure from it. 
What do you think? We might find so 
much there that we should not want to 
disturb the others." 

" Shut up, Dicky ! " said Jefferson. " You 
are giving me the creeps." 

He was giving me the creeps, too. This 
kind of talk had to be stopped at once. A 
solitude such as was so profound about us 
was not the place to indulge in fanciful 

" By all means let us clear the opened 
tomb first," I said, with a happy achievement 
of cool imperturbability. " But I should 
like to get one of the others open before 
nightfall. This ledge is apparently not a 
very safe place for the machine and we do 
not want to stay a moment longer than is 
necessary. If a wind-storm sprang up while 
we are here, it would be extremely awkward, 
to say the least of it. The cool air from the 
mountains sometimes blows with hurricane 
force in its rush to fill the place of the heated 
atmosphere of the desert-plains, you know." 
I was determined to be ready with a rational 
explanation of everything that did or might 

Jefferson sprang up from his seat. 

" Let's get to work. Major ! Come on, 
Dicky ! I bet you I get in first with a chunk 
of rock at any old ghost that shows himself 
— loser pays for a dinner at the Savoy when t 
we get back ! " He laughed in youthful 
high spirits. " Come on, you fellows ! This 
way to the pirate's hoard ! Where are the 
old money-boxes ? " 

I was grateful to him for his boisterous 
jocularity. Dicky actually smiled as we 
both rose from the table. A few minutes 
later, the aeroplane firmly secured behind 
us, we were on our way to the cave, carrying 
between us two ammunition-chests with 
rope-handles — Jefferson's " money-boxes " — 
which we had brought for the conveyance of 
the treasure. 

After our good lunch, fortified as it had 
been by a bottle of the best, the dark entrance 
to tbe cave no longer looked so forbidding. 
We ignored the great human-headed bulb 
as we marched in, Jefferson chanting, in 
humorous defiance of our past fancies, the 
refrain of Stevenson's " Treasure Island " : — 

" Fifteen men on the dead man's chest, 
Drink and the devil had done for the rest. 
Yo-ho-ho ! for a bottle of mm ! 

This way to the pirate's hoard, my hearties ! 
Personally-conducted tours under the guid- 
ance of expert British officers ! Inclusive 
terms, authentic skeletons provided ! Every- 
body free to help themselves. You pays 
your money and you takes your choice ! 
Yo-ho-ho ! for a bottle of rum ! This way 
to the pirate's treasure ! " 

Franks interrupted his comrade's serio- 
comic declamation. 

" Shut up, Harry ! " he said, irritablv. 

" Don't make a jest of it ! After all : " 

He did not finish his thought. I knew he 
had our treasure-hunting predecessor in his 

That long weird moan came again from 
the interior of the cave. We ignored it 
resolutely, switching on our flash-lamps as we 
advanced into the chill gloom. 

" Very clever the way those old fellows 
arranged the acoustics of this place," I said, 
with an affectation of indifference not quite 
in correspondence with my feelings. " Did 
you notice that puff of wind ? " I told 
myself that I shuddered only at the cold of 
this sunless place. 

"' Wind, was it ? " said Franks, in a strange 

WE went on in silence until we reached 
the first tomb. There, just as the two 
lads had described it, was the slab 
aslant from it to the ground — and under* 
neath it that fleshless skeleton with the iron 
bar by his side. 

We gave but a cursory glance either to that 
luckless relic or to the undoubtedly interesting 
carvings upon the exterior of the sarcophagus. 
The glamour of its imagined contents, now 
after so long journeying almost at our touch, 
dazzled us to all but instant possession. I 
understand now that madness of the gold- 
lust of which I have read in tales of the early 
diggings. I think we would then and there 
have killed anyone who stood between us 
and the treasure. I was startled at the 
expression of my comrades' faces as I saw 
them in the circle of light from my torch. 
They were no longer boys. Fever glittered 
in their eyes. They looked like old men, 
lean and covetous. The metamorphosis 
shocked me in the instant of attention which 
I gave to it. Without a word, but with a 
concentrated intensity of action, the three 
of us clambered up the pedestal of the tomb. 
The long dreary moan reiterated from the 
black interior of the cave fell this time upon 
deaf or heedless ears. An apparition itself 
would have been unnoticed in our excitement. 

We switched our torches into the sarco* 
phagus. The uneasy fear at the back of our 
minds, which none of us had dared to express, 
was instantly dispelled. The light was 
reflected in. a dull gfint from the metallic bed 

F. Britten Austin 


on which reposed a few crumbled fragments 
of bones and cerecloths. The treasure was 
still there ! Two only of the close-packed 
bricks of gold were missing. 

" Hooray ! " shouted Jefferson, his voice 
reverberating uncannily under the vault of 
the cave. " The old gentleman has saved 
it for us ! Now, my hearties ! " He reached 
down an eager hand, pulled up a brick. 
" Once aboard the lugger and the treasure's 
ours ! " 

" One of us had better get down and pack 
it into the boxes," I said. " The ether two 
will hand the stuff down to him." 

" I'll pack it," responded Franks, obviously 
keeping himself under stern control. I 
noticed that he looked up apprehensively 
as once more that sinister moan seemed to 
breathe past our ears. He sprang down to 
the floor of the cave, took the golden bars 
we passed to him, packed them neatly into 
the boxes. 

We all worked silently, but with a curious 
instinctive haste, as though we were menaced 
by interruption. Nothing stirred, however, 
not even a resting bat, in that cave lost 
among the mountain solitudes. Our vague 
fears dropped from us as we worked without 
any interference, visible or invisible. Jeffer- 
son even began to whistle. 

The two boxes filled, the three of us — 
Dicky, as the strongest, in the middle — 
staggered with them back to the aeroplane. 
Their weight was surprising. Everything 
was perfectly normal as we returned to the 
machine. She had not shifted in the least. 

We climbed on board and stowed away 
the chests in the cargo-hold. As we leaped 
down again, with two empty ones for the 
next load, I noticed that the sun was already 
sinking behind the higher crests of the chaos 
of mountains around us. 

" We sha'n't do more than clear this tomb 
before nightfall," I said, rather anxiously. 
" And we shall have to hurry to do that." 
I did not relish the prospect of passing two 
nights on this dangerous ledge. 

We hastened back to the cave and worked 
with a will. Journey after journey we 
made, heavy laden, to the aeroplane. Layer 
after layer of gold bricks was exposed and 
packed away in the chests. There was more 
of it than we expected. Instead of five 
layers there were seven. (I might have 
guessed that they would be in a sacred 
number.) It was already pitch-black night 
when, utterly wearied, we staggered with 
the last load to our now familiar home. 
The light left shining through its saloon- 
windows welcomed us with a pleasant 
suggestion of comfort and security. Those 
last trips in the gathering darkness had been 
decidedly eerie. £7* -\r\ 

We were all in the best of spirits, however, 

as we sat round our evening meal in the 
saloon and toasted our good luck with 
another bottle. The three of us went to 
gloat over the stack of treasure-chests in the 
baggage-hold between the wings. Jefferson, 
characteristically, expressed a doubt whether 
the space would contain the spoil to be 
obtained from the other tombs. 

" We'll tuck it away somewhere, never 
fear ! " I said, cheerfully. " We'll start 
work at dawn to-morrow and get clear away 
before dark ! My lads, " I added, turning 
to them, " do you quite realize how rich we 
are ? It seems fantastic to me." 

" To me too," agreed Franks, seriously. 
" We won't talk about ij: till we get it safely 
home. And, by the way, I'll have another 
look at those tethering-ropes. This would 
be a nasty spot if it came on to blow during 
the night." 

So saying, he jumped out into the dark- 
ness. In a few minutes he returned, quite 

" Nothing short of a gale can shift us," 
he said. " But I'm going to switch on the 
headlights all the same. An accident in the 
dark would be no joke." 

He went forward and a moment later the 
terrace was suffused with a reflected radiance 
from where the two great circles illumined 
the stiff placidity of those grotesque monsters 
carved upon the cliff. 

We all turned in to our berths, thoroughly 
exhausted, and in a few minutes were all 

HOW long I slept I do not know. I was 
awakened from a confused nightmare of 
affrighting Assyrian figures that pelted 
me with gold as I sat in the dining-room of the 
Savoy Hotel and filled the air with a rushing 
tumult in which the cream-and-gold pillars 
of that firmly-established hostelry swayed 
and rocked as though in an earthquake. 
It seemed to me that the entire hotel was 
slipping, slipping, slipping, with an awiul 
grating noise, into a bottomless gulf that 
had opened for its reception. My con- 
sciousness struggled through the welter of 
dream-phantasms that overlaid it, came to 
full perception with a shock of wild alarm. 

The aeroplane was lifting, slipping, bump- 
ing, now pulled up short by a rope, now 
jerking away in a sudden release, rising and 
falling from side to side, in a gale of wind 
that howled among the mountains with the 
fury of a hurricane. Torrents of rain 
hammered and drummed upon the canvas 
roof overhead. Through the saloon windows 
I had a sudden glimpse of that sculptured 
rock-face illumined in a blinding jag of 
lightning. An appalling crash of thunder 
drowned my voke as I shouted to mv com- 



The Treasure of the Tombs 

Then ensued a desperate battle for life. The wind assailed the aeroplane with a frenzy 

of this pit among the mountains into the 

But they were awake. The saloon started 
into ill u mi nation as Jefferson, springing to 
his feet, switched on the lights. Franks was 
making for the door to the pilot- compart- 
ment, lurching as he went as though in the 

cabin of a tern pest -tossed yacht at moorings, 

" We shall be adrift in a moment ! " I 

heard him shout as he disappeared through 

the door, I Ruc-PSed his purpose instantly. 

He wa 5^:^f¥to^ es ' 

F. Britten Austin 


of sledge-hammer blows. The engines raved and roared as they strove to pull us up out 
rock-free regions of the upper air/* 

Another moment and, with a sharp crack 
in the midst of that tumult of wind and rain 
and thunder-coupled lightning, the last rope 
parted. The machine lifted on her beam, 
I heard her wing scraping along the terrace 

as we slid. Instinctively I clutched for 
support, vain though it was* at a stanchion 
of my bunk. In another instant we should be 
over the precipice. 

Eve|dhtfVI^i^d&lW€H*§.^sation of H» 


The Treasure of the Tombs 

scraping sound, I heard the welcome roar 
of the engines starting into life. Good old 
Franks ! I could imagine him, desperately 
battling, at the controls. My relief lasted 
not a second — with a sickening suddenness 
we dropped, backwards, in an awful vertical 
descent. The machine swayed violently as 
she tried to right herself. The engines 
re-echoed thunderously from the black gulf 
I glimpsed through the windows, leaped to 
spasms of their fullest power, yet futile, 
I was only too conscious, in the fury of that 

Then ensued a desperate battle for life. 
It was useless to think of rejoining Franks 
at the pilot-wheel ; I could have been of no 
assistance even had it been possible. As it 
was, I had to cling for dear life to prevent 
myself being thrown through the canvas 
roof. But Jefferson had vanished, had 
managed somehow to go to the help of his 
comrade. I was alone in that saloon which 
lurched and twirled, bumped and pitched 
and rolled, fell and rose again at every 
variety of angle. The wind assailed her 
with a frenzy of sledge-hammer blows. I 
wondered how long she could hold together. 
The headlights were still on. Through the 
windows I could see them now making white 
circles on the rock-face, now shooting their 
beams endlessly, without a target, into the 
infinite blackness of the night. The engines 
raved and roared as, struggling with the 
brutal buffetings of the gale, they strove to 
pull us up out of this pit among the moun- 
tains into the rock-free regions of the upper 

There was perhaps a minute of suspense, 
and then the disaster for which I held my 
breath happened with a vicious suddenness. 
Caught in a terrific blast of wind that whirled 
against the* precipice, the machine was flung 
right over, upside down. A hail of small 
loose objects in the cabin leaped up about 
my head as, clinging desperately to the 
support wrenching in my hand, I felt my 
feet break through the roof. Simultaneously, 
I heard a clatter and a crash, loud above the 
uproar of the gale. The boxes of gold — 
loose amidships in their compartment — had 
smashed through the roof on to which they 
had been flung ! As I realized it — visualized 
our hard- won treasure hurtling into the 
black gulf below — I had a last glimpse, upside 
down though I was, of the entrance to the 
cave, its winded guardians vividly illumined 

in a lightning flash of peculiarly intense 

It was perhaps imagination, but I thought 
I heard a scream of unearthly triumph 
mingling with the wild howling of the wind. 
No theory of cunning acoustics was plausible 
just then. 

But I had no mind, in that dreadful crisis, 
to bemoan the loss of our treasure. At any 
moment our lives might be extinguished. 
Hope of survival was a mockery I did not 
entertain for an instant. Yet the engines 
still roared against the fury of the gale and 
still we kept, despite our inverted position, 
a purchase on the air. Rocking violently 
from side to side, the m'racle happened. A 
sudden dive nose-down and we returned, in 
a sickening swoop, to right-side up. I 
extricated my legs from the torn canvas of 
the roof, dropped them to the floor. I had 
a mental glimpse, warm with gratitude, of 
Franks dauntlessly sticking to his controls, 
fighting with every ounce of his strength and 
amazing skill. " Good Jad ! " I shouted, 
though I knew he could not hear. 

A moment later and we were dashed 
violently against the face of the rock. I 
heard the planes on one side crack and break. 
It was all over ! The next instant we were 
descending in long circling sweeps at an 
acute angle. The engines still roared in- 
termittently. I looked, following the beams 
of our downward headlights, into a bottom- 
less gulf whose walls rushed round giddily 
in our spiral fall. I saw suddenly great 
boulders directly beneath us, expanding like 
bladders in quick inflation. Our nose came 
up suddenly — sideways. There was a terrific 
shock — blackness. 

IT was three weary, tattered, half-starving 
men — shaken still with the miracle of their 
escape — who dragged themselves four days 
later into Mosul. They left behind them, in 
that gloomy valley, not only a wrecked 
aeroplane but those golden bars which had 
rained down from a night of fury into some 
unknown gulf. As they had picked them- 
selves up, bruised and battered, in the dawn 
slowly brightening to their returning con- 
sciousness, and groped for a way out again 
to the haunts of men, they had not dared to 
look up to that terrace where, inaccessible 
to the boldest mountaineer, tfcofe carven 
winged monsters guarded the treasure of the 


Original from 






ON a day in 1890, and in the after- 
noon of that day, there took place 
in Tidborough events which, put 
together, make a tellable story, 
though a story outraging all the best and 
oldest-established literary conventions, and 
therefore to be avoided by sentimental 

At five minutes past four on this afternoon 
the express from London was awaited at 
Tidborough station by a great crowd of the 
kind that is called *' an ugly crowd." Ugly 
to the eye, it was composed of males and 
females of all ages. The men wore cloth 
caps and rough clothes and had scarves 
about their necks ; the women were mostly 
hatless, and they had among the lot of them 
not so much ** finery " as would have deco- 
rated (according to their ideas of decoration) 
the person of a single -one of their number. 
This was because the whole of the combined 
walking-out trousseaux of the female hands 
of Bassett's Paper Mills, together with the 
Sunday clothes of the men, was in the care of 
the Tidborough pawnbrokers. 

Ugly to the eye, the crowd that awaited 
the oncoming London train was also ugly 
to the perceptions. It had a sullen, a sinis- 
ter, and a threatening air. It emitted, as it 
shifted and swayed beneath its own pressure, 
a hostile and a deep murmuring that swelled 
up f o the station roof and reverberated there 
rather like the muttering of distant thunder. 
A fortnight, or even a week, before, this 
crowd, similarly assembled, would have 
temporized the violent strength that mani- 
festly lay within it by coarse chaff and 


banter and by cheery hailings, one to another. 
But not now. Bassett's strikers were past 
that stage. They were hungry. At the 
outset of the strike they had been noisy. 
They paraded the streets and sang songs ; 
and, touching the subject of food, they made 
jokes with one another about " tightening 
your belt up a couple of holes." Now they 
were no longer noisy. They stood silently 
about the bakers' shops and the bakers wore 
a worried look, and after closing-hours paid 
visits to the police station. 

The strikers had been genial, then jovial, 
then irritable, then angry. They were now 
ferocious, and the immediate object of their 
ferocity was approaching them, assembled 
at the station, in the 4.5 p.m. from London. 
Tug Sanders, the strike-breaker. 

Strike-breaking by the importation of 
workers from another district has been 
known in America. It has never been 
successfully established in England, and the 
notion of Mr. Tug Sanders that it could be 
done, and that he was the man to do it, had 
been confined, thus far, to his own statements 
in that section of the London and provincial 
Press which opened its columns to the possi- 
bilities of this factor in the problem of labour 
unrest, just then engaging considerable atten- 
tion. Mr. Sanders, reading of the prolonged 
strike at Bassett's Paper Mills, Tidborough, 
had communicated with Mr. Henry Bassett. 
Henry Bassett, stubborn, determined, consti- 
tutionally impervious to any other reasoning 
than his own, an embittered man, a lonely 
man, a man with a grudge against all men, 
proud to his marrow a^d hard to the bone, 

I I LI 1 1 I '.I I I I ■_■ I 1 1 



The Strike-Breakef 

knowing public opinion i» Tidborough unani- 
mously against him and steeled by that know- 
ledge to bash public opinion across the face 
and humiliate it to the dust, had replied to 
Mr. Tug Sanders's communication. Mr. 
Sanders had triumphantly announced to the 
Press that he was " proceeding to Tidborough 
with a view to arranging to break the strike 
at Bassett's Paper Mills " ; and the employ is 
of Bassett's Paper Mills were now assembled 
at Tidborough station with a -view to break- 
ing the adjectived neck and adjectived head 
of Mr. adjectived Sanders, and then to kick 
ithe adjectived remains of his adjectived 
carcass across the adjectived market-place. 

Here she comes ! " 

Immediately the great press upon the 
platform convulsed in enormous upheavals, 
tossings, and surgings. Rushes from behind 
on the part of those who would get better 
placed for the business in hand were franti- 
cally battled by those at the front who f ojond 
themselves driven perilously upon the edge. 
A man, and then another, and then a shriek- 
ing woman, were toppled over on to the line. 
With panic's true fatuity, they desperately 
sought return instead of passing across to 
safety, and frantically were grabbed and 
pulled and hauled. Oaths flew and savage 
blows were exchanged. 

41 Don't push, yer blamed idiot ! Can't 
yer see what — — " 

"All right, all right. What's up with 
yer ? Take that, then ! " 
* " An' that one for you ! " 

Into this stupendous uproar the 4.5, and at 
once cessation of the private brawls ; at once 
a common rush, shouting, fist-tossing, upon 
the doors and windows of the coaches. 
Curious passengers sought to protrude in- 
quiring heads, but hastily withdrew them in 
wise alarm. That savage tumult was a good 
thing to keep out of. 

The threatening, sweaty faces pressed 
against the windows and surged along them. 

" Where is he ? " 

"Throw him out ! Throw him out ! " 

" We want Tug Sanders ! " 

And then in a sudden moment, with the 
quick and mysterious unanimity that gives 
universal instruction to a mob, there was 
taken up by every voice a crashing chant : — 

•* We want Tug Sanders ! " 

" We want Tug Sanders ! " 

Feet were accommodated to the rhythm. 
While those in front pursued their eager 
quest, wrenching open doors and shouting 
their ferocious inquiry among shrinking 
passengers, the crowded masses behind trod 
out the measure with hobnailed boots crash- 
ing in unison with vibrant throats. 

" We— want— Tug— Sanders ! " 

» We— want— Tug— Sanders ! " 

It was rather horribly frightening to hear. 

Mr. Tug Seders heard it, and it urged him 
nimbly on" his way. To its crashing reso- 
nance .the, famous strike-breaker skipped out 
of the train on the farther side, was urgently 
occupied in cautiously,- and withal swiftly, 
putting sweet distance between himself and 
those so anxiously* awaiting him. Always a 
busy man, the great breaker of strikes had 
never been so busy. Notoriously a hustler, 
he had nevermore briskly kept moving. He 
bad been warned, and he had arrived alert to 
pay behest to the w r arning. At the junction 
forty miles up the line there had been handed 
to him a telegram from the Tidborough 
superintendent of police : — 
- " Very hostile crowd assembled at station. 
You are advised to leave train by up-side 

On£ glimpse as the train drew into Tid- 
borough had been quite enough for Mr. 
Sanders, a man of notably quick perceptions. 
The 4.5 was not come to a complete stop 
before the eminent strike-breaker was nimbly 
out of the farther door of his compartment 
and fleeting across the rails in purposeful 
testimony to the grand natural law of self' 

Safety first ! 

THE 4.5 drew out. Very quickly the plat- 
form cleared. Disappointed of its ptfey, 
returned to the hard facts of the lock- 
out, the mob took counsel with itself, ^nd 
presently announced its judgment in kind 
shouts of "To the Old Mans! To the 6ld 
Man's ! " [ 

At six o'clock the Old Man — Mr. Bassett — 
was to receive a deputation. Any hopes con- 
cerning it had been shattered when it became 
known that he would first receive the famous 
strike-breaker. Rumour now quickly spread 
the report that Tug Sanders had arrived, 
given them the slip, and doubtless was well 
on his w r ay to Mr. Bassett's. It commended 
itself to the strikers to assemble about the 
Old Man's gates and hear the result straight 
from the deputation immediately its members 
left the presence ; they shambled into some 
kind of marching formation and moved along, 
slouching, silent, downcast, dangerous. 

Upon the station platform meanwhile 
there had been reproduced the best-known 
fable of Phaedrus. " A mountain was in 
labour, sending forth dreadful groans, and 
there was in the region the highest expecta- 
tion. After all it brought forth an absurd 
mouse." The 4.5, when it drew out, instead 
of leaving upon the platform the colossal 
personality expected of it, grotesquely 
deposited only the tiny figure of a little 
girl. Her hair was bobbed — a fashion highly 
uncommon in 1890 — her face was pale, her 
eyes large. She had a little tin box and 
she carried a large satchel ; and she stood 


A. S. M. Hutchinson 



'The little girl said, primly: 'Good afternoon, porter. If you please, 1 want a hansom cab.' 



The Strike-Breaker 

there, looking extraordinarily tiny and 
quaint, till a porter, detaching himself from 
watching the departing strikers, observed 
her and came towards her. This porter 
knew nothing of Latin tags relative to a moun- 
tain bringing forth a mouse — he had never 
been to school — but it struck him as odd, the 
mighty personage that had been expected 
and the tiny little object that had been left, 
and he rather grinned as he advanced to her. 

" Now, then, missy, what's for you ? " 

The little girl said, primly, " Good after- 
noon, porter. If you please, I want a hansom 
cab." And she added, as if she apprehended 
a thought in his mind, " You must understand 
I am quite accustomed to hansom cabs, and 
allowed to go in them, because I come from 
London. There are simply millions of hansom 
cabs in London, you know." 

The porter, being entirely unaccustomed 
to children, was able to treat them just as 
they like being treated. " That so ? " he 
said, seriously. 

" Oh, millions. Have you ever been to 
London ? " 

The porter had not had this advantage. 

" You ought to ask the station-master to 
let you go one day. It's a most wonderful 
place, you know. My dear Aunt Victoria 
says the city of London is the hubbub of the 

" That so ? " said the porter. 

The little girl nodded in vigorous confirma- 
tion. " And it is noisy." 

SHE was in stature scarcely at the level of 
the porter's waist, but in her singular 
self-possession and primness she was 
completely the dominant partner in these ex- 
changes ; and she now, by a glance towards 
the exits and a gesture of her shoulders, 
quite clearly instructed the porter that the 
requirements of polite interchange were ful- 
, filled and that his duties must now be 

He swung up her box in one horny fist andT 
again obeying a gesture, extended the other 
towards her. She took it and gave the 
explanation she seemed to think necessary. 

" You see, I'm only eight," she said ; " and 
in railway stations I always hold my dear 
mamma's hand." 

" Ain't your mamma come with you, 
then ? " inquired the porter. 

Her reply caused him to look sharply down 
at her, trotting by his side. 

" Oh, no. You see, my dear mamma is 

The brim of her hat permitted the porter 
to see only the lower part of her face. He 
caught a quick protrusion and withdrawal 
of her lips. He felt awkward. " Ah, dear, 
dear ! " he said. 

" She's with God," said the little girl, and 

Digitized by ^009 Ic 

sighed with the sound of wind in a midnight 

" That so ? " said the porter. 

He felt immediately — he was a man of 
rather delicate perceptions (for a porter) — 
that it was an inept remark ; but he had 
been rather taken aback, and it had been 
jerked out of him on the rebound (as he 
might have explained it)'. To cover it, and 
to get well away-irom it, he said, in a changed 
and hearty voice, " And where might you 
be making to now, missy ? " 

"I'm going to see my dear Uncle Henry." 

" That so ? " said the porter ; " and what 
might your uncle's regular name be, missy ? " 

The little girl replied, rather as if she had 
learnt it by heart : " My dear Uncle Henry 
is Henry Bassett, Esquire, the Old Court 
House, near Penny Green, Tidborough." 

The porter whistled. The thing — the co- 
incidence — was so completely astounding to 
him that he had no words to suit it. He felt 
dazed, and in dazed silence he led the way 
into the station yard. Three or four hansom 
cabs were in waiting. He hailed one, and as 
it came jingling up (the little girl watching 
it with an ecstatic air of much-approving 
proprietorship) prepared to hand on his 
amazement to its driver. 

He swung up her box, the driver stiffly 
reaching tightly-overcoated arms for it : 
" Wherever don't you think this fare's 
bound for ? " 

The driver, who was no public speaker, 
vouchsafed only the surly grunt of one to 
whom the vagaries of fares were as nothing. 
But for the porter's reply he clearly was not 

" Old Bassett's," said the porter. 

The driver jerked up his head. " Not on 
your life ? " He had a very deep, suspicion? 
tfoice and a very small, beery, and suspicious 
eye. " Not on your life she ain't ? " 

" Ask of her then," affirmed the porter, 
with the pride of one that has released a 
startler. He looked towards the little girl. 
She was standing by the horse's head, her 
hands clasped in ecstatic adoration. " Calls 
*im her dear Uncle Henry." 

" Not on your life she don't." 

The porter nodded impressively. " Said 
it to me with her own lips right there on the 
platform." He pointed towards the plat- 
form, and the driver stood up on his box and 
looked earnestly towards it as if to see what 
explanation of this astounding circumstance 
it might have to offer. " There was they/' 
said the porter, thoroughly well pleased with 
himself, " there was they waiting for this 
yer strike-breaker, and there's the strike- 
breaker as has come, and " He broke 

off, for the little girl had turned from the 
horse and was approaching him, her fingers 
in her purse. 


A. S. M. Hutchinson 


" Thank you, porter," she addressed him. 
" That's very nice. Here is threepence for 
you. Just lift me up to the step, will you ? 
And in case, porter, any of the four-wheelers 
are annoyed I took a hansom, just tell them, 
please, it's because I like to watch the horse." 
She was on the footboard of the cab, and she 
caught the driver's small and suspicious eye 
astoundingly regarding her over the roof ; 
but with the air of one doing the correGt 
thing, she ignored his eye and gave her in- 
structions to the porter. " I'll tell the man 
where to go to from inside." 

" I've told him, missy," said the porter. 

She was working herself on to the seat, 
sitting on her legs tucked beneath her. She 
said, reprovingly, " But I still will, if you 
don't mind. My dear mamma always tells 
him from the inside when he looks through 
the little hole in the top." 

" That so ? " said the porter, and stepped 
back and stared upon the driver with eyes 
that asked, " Did you ever ? " 

A yellow eye now gazed lambently down 
upon the little girl through the roof-trap. 
She addressed it. " If you please, I am 
going to my dear Uncle Henry. If you 
please, to Henry Bassett, Esquire, the Old 
Court House, near Penny Green, Tidborough. 
What's your horse's name ? " . 

The eyes of the porter on the pavement 
said : " Ah, now it's your turn ! " Th$ 
yellow eye of the driver, raised in astonish- 
ment from the trap, gazed first upon his 
horse, then upon the porter, and then inside 
his hat, lifted for that purpose as though with 
some expectation of finding the horse's name 
there written. A great difficulty faced the 
driver, and it was that the only name by 
which he ever called his horse was " Blast 
yer " : " Get up, blast yer ! Now then, 
blast yer ! Whoa, blast yer ! " 

He was, however, though a slowish man, 
a man of resource. A powerful aroma of 
beer descended upon the little girl. " What 
name would you like him to be called, lady ? " 

She twisted up her face to the beer vent. 
" I should like him to be called Black Beauty." 

" That's what he is called, lady," said the 
driver, hoarsely. 

M Although he's brown ? " said the little 
girl, quickly. 

The driver raised his head and blew an 
enormous discharge of beery fumes across the 
top of his cab. " Hoo-oo-oo-ff ! " He gazed 
despairingly at the porter but saw no sym- 
pathy there. He again applied his face to the 
trap. f " 'Is mane's black, lady, an' 'is tail." 

" So they are ! So they are ! " cried the 
little girl, and struck her hands together. 
" Do you mind if I click him off ? " 

" Not a bit, lady," said the driver, relieved. 

" T'ck ! t'ck ! " clicked the little girl. 
M Gee up, Black Beauty ! " 


THE driver thought hard, though slowly, 
during the long drive to the Old Court 
House. He was in violent sympathy 
with the strikers and entertained a violent 
opinion of Henry Bassett, and in the 
fuddled way in which, consequent upon 
his chief interest in life, the processes 
of his mind worked, he had a sullen notion 
that he was playing false to the strikers 
by permitting a relative of the hated 
Bassett in his cab. The notion swelled to a 
head as the cab overtook, passed through, 
and left the ranks of the marchers. He was 
cogitating some remarks to the little girl on 
the subject of her uncle when the roof -trap 
was agitated from beneath, and he raised it 
and looked down. 

The little girl, who had climbed upright to 
get at the trap, was resettling herself upon 
her curled-up legs. " I just wanted to say," 
she said, * 4 please flick those flies off Black 
Beauty's ears. Thank you ! You must 
watch for them, you know. Where were all 
those men going to ? " 

The question was pleasant to the driver. 
He had the feeling, cumulative upon his 
attitude towards the strikers, that his horse 
must be thinking him a fool or gone mad thus 
finickingly to apply the lash he customarily 
used with all his arm behind it. He said, 
with harsh emphasis, " They re going to see 
your dear uncle." 

" Are they ? " cried the little girl. " Is it 
a party ? " 

'* Party ? " growled the driver. '* Party * " 

: You've been drinking beer, haven't 
you ? " said the little girl. 

1 Yes, lady," said the driver, and closed the 

THE Old Court House was approached 
by massive iron gates and a short 
drive. The front door stood within 
cavernous portals, in which the little girl, 
standing before it, looked rather like a 
fly at the bottom of a large teacup. The 
driver, descending, rang for her the bell- 
pull, which depended like a giant's club 
far above her head, was paid, and drove 
off ('* For the less I sees of these 'ere, 
lady," said the driver, "the better I feels.'' 
" When I'm not feeling very well," said 
the little girl, "my dear mamma gives 
me syrup of figs." The driver withdrew 

A very tall, thin man, with the appearance 
of having been baked dry in an oven, opened 
the door and looked all about him till the 
little girl coughed, when he looked towards 
his boots and observed her. 

" If you please," said the little girl, " I've 
come to stay with my dear uncle." 

Stupefaction took voice within the tall 
man. " Come to stay with Come 


II 4 

The Strike- Breaker 

to stay with your dear uncle ? " he re- 

" Yes, thank you/' said the little girl, 
and stepped over the threshold and began 
very industriously to wipe her feet on the 

The man stared down with the air of one 
watching an astounding and uncanny pheno- 
menon. " Is it Mr. Bassett you mean ? " 

" Excuse my not answering before," said 
the little girl, after a pause in which, her feet 
continued vigorously at work. " I go nine 
times with each foot. How many times do 
you go T " 

"I'm afraid I couldn't quite say as to 
that," said the tall man. With the porter 
and the driver, he found himself, as it were, 
mesmerically overpowered. 

The little girl regarded him interestedly. 
" I suppose it's a habit with you. My dear 
mamma says that in time it becomes a habit, 
and then you stop counting. . Do you do the 
backs of, your heels like this, or like this ? " 

" I'm afraid I couldn't quite say as to that, 
miss," said the tall man. He cleared his 
throat. "I was inquiring, miss, if it was 
Mr. Bassett you meant for your uncle ? " 

" Oh, yes," said the little girl. " My dear 
Uncle Henry. It couldn't be either of my 
other dear uncles, you see — my dear Uncle 
Barnabus or my dear Uncle William, because 
my dear mamma says they're not on speak- 
ing terms with my dear Uncle Henry, so they 
couldn't be here, could they ? " 

"I'm afraid I couldn't quite say as to that, 
miss," said the tall man. " I don't seem to 
recollect the gentlemen." He made an un- 
certain motion towards the interior of the 
hall. " What name might it be, miss ? " 

" Lucy," said the little girl. " What's 
yours ? " 

" Cleggs, miss," said the tall man, speak- 
ing, like the porter, on the rebound of sur- 
prise. He hesitated, but, as the little girl 
appeared willing to accept this without com- 
ment, he drifted uncertainly up the hall and, 
knocking discreetly, passed through a door- 

THE proprietor of Bassett's Paper Mills 
sat at a writing-table fingering some 
papers and looking the man im- 
pervious to any reasoning but his own, 
the solitary and embittered man with a 
grudge against all men, the man proud 
to the marrow and hard to the bone, 
that he was reputed to be and that un- 
questionably he was. His clean-shaven face 
was the setting of eyes that were like dull 
grey stones, hard and cold as such, and that 
appeared to be lidless, so fixed their gaze, 
and of a mouth whose lips were tightly 
pressed together as though he held something 
upon his tongue- 

He looked up and spoke in an austere voice, 
as of one pronouncing a judgment. " If 
that's the deputation, Cleggs " 

Cleggs began, " I beg your pardon, sir, 

it's " and turned at something that was 

pushing. like a dog against his legs. 

V I can't .quite get past you," said the little 
girl, in her high, clear voice. " Thank you. 
Didn't you know I was just behind you when 
you stopped ? " She advanced to the writing- 
table. " Are you my dear Uncle Henry ? " 
. " Who are you ? " demanded Mr. Bassett. 
He might have been addressing a burglar. 

" I'm- your little niece, Lucy." 

Air. Bassett set his hands upon the arms of 
his chair and appeared to .constrict them. 
" Lucy's child ! " He turned his hard glance 
sharply across the room. " Get out of here," 
he said to Cleggs. He said to the little girl, 
very roughly, " What nonsense is this ? 
Where do you come from ? " 

" From London. I've come to stay with 
you. Have you got something in your 
mouth ? " 

"It will be time for you to ask questions," 
said Mr. Bassett, " and not rude or stupid 
questions, when you have answered mine." 

" Thank you," said the little girl. " I 
only asked because you hold your lips 
pressed up like I hold mine when I have cod- 
liver oil and can't bear to swallow it. What 
.was your question ? " 

" My question was, What nonsense is this ? 
Where is your mother ? " 

The little girl swallowed before she spoke. 
" My dear Uncle Henry, please don't cry, but 
be brave. My dear mamma is dead." 

The proprietor of Bassett's Paper Mills 
said, " Lucy — dead ! " 

" She's with God," said the little girl, and 
sighed again the tremendous sigh heard by 
the porter. "I'm not to cry, and I haven't 
— feel my handkerchief." 

The proprietor of Bassett's Paper Mills 
disregarded the invitation. " When did she 
die ? " 

" On Tuesday." 

" Who was there ? " 
• " Only me." 

" Where was she buried ? " 

" At Kensal Green." 

" Who was there ? " 

" Only me." 

The little girl's lips were swiftly protruded 
and withdrawn. " I find if I pinch my 
nose it's a great help," she said. " I think 
I will." 

It was a little pathetic ; but here is where 
the best literary conventions are outraged in 
this story. It was a little pathetic ; on the 
stage or in the best stories a tear would have 
stolen down Mr. Bassett's grim, cold cheek, 
and the n>st would be damp, excruciating, 
and easy. It is magnificent, but it is not life. 


A. S. M. Hutchinson 

I! : 

It doesn't realty 
happen. Consider 
the most curmud- 
geonly old man you 
know — your em- 
ployer or your 
sel fish unci e — and " 
ask yourself if any 
such news as the 
death of his one- 
time favourite sister 
won Id i mrnedia t el y 
cause him to violate 
the characteristics 
of a lifetime and 
soften like a pound 
of butter in the sun. 
You know perfectly 
well that nothing 
less than a poleaxe 
would soften him. 
It was the same 
here. No tear stole 
down Mr* Basse tt's 
grim, cold cheek. 
He did not so much 
as wince. As a child 
he had been de- 
votedly attached to 
his sister Lucy. In 
youth she had kept 
house for him. He 
had quarrelled vio- 
lently and tyran- 
nically with her ; 
and the hard but 
thoroughly human 
fact is that his child- 
hood's affections 
and the impulses of 
his youth were 
screwed and bat- 
tened down beneath 

forty years of brass-bound, weather- proofed, 
steel -enforced, iron-clamped, triple-locked 

He did not even wtnce, *'Only you ? " he 
said, solidly* (i Only you ? Your uncles, 
your aunt, they were in touch with her. 
Where were they ? ' + 

The little girl was still pinching the bridge 
of her nose. Her raised elbow and the simul- 
taneous twisting of one leg seemed to indicate 
the necessity, and the exercise, of much force. 
"If you can see any wetness," she announced, 
" it's the pinching. My dear Aunt Victoria 
and my dear uncles said it was most unfortu- 
nate for them, but you can 't put off a wedding 
just because anyone is ill; and afterwards my 
dear aunt came and explained you couldn't put 
it off for a funeral. It was my dear Cousin 
Kate's wedding, and my dear Uncle William 
said it was a most important catch — no, 
match. Would it be catch or match ? " 

He said to the little girl, very roughly : * Where do you come from ? * 
' From London* I've come to stay with you t * 

11 Catch, if I know my dear sister Victoria," 
said Mr. Basset t. 

" A most important catch/' continued the 
little girl, " and it would have looked so 
strange if they weren't there. And my dear 
Uncle Barn a bus said it was most unfortunate 
being the same day, and " 

'* Ah, like them, like them I " interpolated 
the proprietor of Basse tt's Paper Mills. " I 
can see them ; I can hear them ! " 

-< Can you ? " said the little girl, and 
stood on tiptoe and looked along the line of 
her uncle's sight < 

He laughed. 

He laughed and — listen to this— it was his 
laugh, and no groan, that did actually cause 
a stir and a creaking of the massy baulks 
beneath which, like soft green leaves pressed 
dry and skeletonized in a book, his child- 
hood's generous qu alt ties lay. He laughed. 
His thought was 4i What an idea ! What a 



The Strike- Breaker 

child ! What a thing to be so ingenuously 
simple as that ! Imagine it, if one could be 
a child like that ! Ah me, if one could ! " 

He laughed, and somewhere deep within 
him a twinge responded. 

All Mr. Bassett said, snapping off the laugh 
and stifling the twinge, was, " Where were 
you living ? In lodgings ? " 

The little girl nodded. " In our lodgings, 
yes. Do you know " — she put a hand on - 
the table in the motion of calling particular 
attention — " Do you know, our landlady's 
grown-up daughter was in the pantomime. 
She was ! She was in the fourth row, and 
our landlady said she would have been in the 
front row, only she had thin legs on her 
father's side. Which side of you is your 
father's side ? " 

He laughed again, this time a full and free 

" Well, you're all on your mother's side," 
he said, " if that's any explanation to you." 
And he ended again, to himself, " Ah me ! " 
not because he was thinking of her mother, 
for he was not, but because he was thinking 
of himself. And though pages might be 
written of what he was thinking of himself, 
they might, with equal clearness and poign- 
ancy (for those who suddenly glimpsed some- 
thing they have lost), be written just as he 
expressed it — " Ah me ! " 

He said to her : " Do you know, when 
you walked in at that door just now you 
were about as likely to stay and live here as 
Cleggs is to stand on his head." 

" Can he ? " cried the little girl, enor- 
mously interested. 

" You'd better ask him. But suppose you 
do stay here ? What an idea ! How could 
you ? There'd be all sorts of difficulties." 

The little girl seemed quite to appreciate 
this. He was frowning over certain of the 
difficulties, and she reflected his frown. 
" There'd be my back to wash," she said. 

He laughed again. It came quite easily. 
4 ' Ah, that particular difficulty hadn't oc- 
cured to me. I dare say we could get over 

** Well, I can do everything else for myself. 
It's only my back when I have my bath." 

HE was not really thinking of practical 
difficulties. Practical difficulties never 
stood in the way of the proprietor of 
Bassett's Paper Mills. That was why he 
paid super-tax on his income. The diffi- 
culties he was thinking of were of the 
same order as those which torture a man 
when he knows he ought to get up in 
the morning, and will be infinitely happier 
when he does get up, but feels he simply 
cannot. All very well to have this little 
girl in the house and to have always 
this — this freshness, this newness; but 

how about giving up his accustomed mode 
of life and his accustomed outlook on life 
and the bearing and the behaviour in 
life that his fellow-men were accustomed 
to see in him ? Forty years habituated in 
it. Forty years — ah me ! But still 

But he kept up the pretence of practical 
difficulties. " How about lessons ? Don't 
you have to do lessons ? " 

" My dear mamma did me my^ lessons," 
said the little girl. " I can show you and 
you can do me them, because, do you know, 
I've got the very same books that you and 
my dear mamma used when you were little 
like me. They've got your marks in them. 
I've got them here." 

She took from a chair the satchel she had 
brought with her and put it on the table. 
" There was no room in my box," said the 
little girl. She pulled out small and battered 
volumes. '* There they are. Do you re- 
member them ? " 

" I remember them," he said. 

The little girl had opened one of the 
books and was turning over the leaves 
before him. " Look, those are your marks 
when you were learning. Your dear mamma 
used to put the dates every day, and so did 

He rather stolidly regarded the thumbed 
pages, his mother's pencil-marks, the old- 
fashioned woodcuts, and the little readings 
in huge print. He was not touched by it all 
as, on the stage or in the best stories, he 
would have been touched. What he felt 
was a strange but unmistakable delight in 
the funny little old book with its grotesquely 
pious and moral tales. His sole reading was 
the Times and the Financial Times. This 
stuff was delicious ! And once it had thrilled 
him ! " Ah me ! " 

The little girl thought he must have 
finished the page at which he was staring. 
" That was your reading-book," she said. 
" My dear mamma says you both simply 
loved it. There was one page — a poetry 
page — she said you couldn't understand. 
I'll show you." 

She flattened before him a page conspicu- 
ously white compared with the finger- 
stained others : obviously seldom read. It 
had three stiff woodcuts : a small urchin 
sporting after a butterfly ; a young man 
walking a path and looking at a bird above 
him, presumably in song ; a middle-aged 
man seated on a bench in the attitude of 

He remembered the pictures perfectly. 
His eyes read the verse accompanying 
them : — 

Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing Boy, 
But he behoifc th^ ligr.*, and whence it flows, 

UNIYffElff' iMohh ?PITGAN 

A. S. M, Hutchinson 

ii 7 

The Youth, who daily farther from the East 
Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 

It was unfair. The proprietor of Bassett's 
Paper Mills was smitten between the joints 
of his harness. There must be a hiatus. He 
is as entitled as any other citizen to suffer 
his wound unobserved in the privacy of his 
own room. He was forty years deep in the 
prison ; forty years from the glory, and 
forty years from the dream ; and he was in 
the company of a little girl upon whom no 
shades of the prison-house had yet descended, 
which rather intensified and showed up his 
condition. How, then, would you like, if a 
similar caJamity overtook you, to have your 
thoughts vulgarly analyzed and hideously 
exposed in public print ? Why should un- 
fortunate people, butchered into fiction to 
make a reader's holiday, suffer these things ? 
Why should the proprietor of Bassett's Paper 
Mills suffer them ? Dash it ! he sha'n't. 

The little girl waited an enormously long 
time for him to speak. Her own thoughts, 
stoutly kept away by trains, porters, hansom 
cabs, drivers, and uncles, crowded upon her 
Jwhile she waited. 

At last she said, " Do you understand that 
now, uncle ? " 

He said, rather heavily, ft I understand it." 
He turned in his chair towards her. ' You're 
going to stay with me all right. What 
would you like to do — first ? " 

The little girl said, "I'd like — most awfully 
—to cry." 

The proprietor of Bassett's Paper Mills 
extended his hands to her. 

She said, " Do you think my dear mamma 
would mind ? " 

The proprietor of Bassett's Paper Mills 
swallowed something. " She'll know I said 
you might." 

The little girl's face began to work with 
extraordinary convulsions. 

He opened his arms to her. 

THE little girl sobbed with an aban- 
donment to grief utter, complete, 
enormous, devastating. Every fibre 
and particle of her small body seemed to 
contribute to the abandonment. It was like 
a universal capitulation of all her parts 
rushing to the call of one stream as river 
banks collapse to a flood. Her face was 
buried in the shoulder of the proprietor of 
Bassett's Paper Mills. He had never seen 
anything like such grief. He had never 
imagined that anything like it could be. 

Once or twice she cried " My dear mamma ! 
My deaf mamma 1 " He put an awkward 
hand to her head and stroked it and held her 
rather tight. 

And beneath the catastrophic collapse of 
her emotions he was himself undergoing a 
huge and monstrous capitulation, a washing 
out, a surging up from under, that the little 
twinges when he laughed at her had begun. 
He was thinking all kinds of things while he 
held her. He began to suffer the extra- 
ordinary feeling that he was not so much 
holding her as himself holding on to her. He 
was thinking all kinds of things. The only 
thing that, in common decency to him, need 
be reported, was the thought, " This infernal 
strike ! That's in the way. Infernal thing ! " 
Also this thought : " It's time 1 got out of 
it. Turn it into a company. Getting too 
old. Don't understand these new ideas 
about workpeople. Get out of it. Potter 
about — with this scrap." And again : * ' This 
infernal strike ! In the way ! Infernal thing ! " 

The violence of her passionate sorrow ran 
its course. It ebbed away in long heaves and 
little shudders. He sat her upright on his 
knee and with a handkerchief wiped her eyes. 
" Feel better ? Better now, eh ? " 

He put the handkerchief in his pocket. 
M Look here. I expect you'd like to do some- 
thing for me, wouldn't you ? " 

She nodded. She couldn't quite get words 

" There're some people waiting here to see 
me. Cleggs has been in and out of the room 
while you've been having your cry. I want 
you just to go in and say something to them 
for me — will you ? " 

She nodded again. Her sniffs would have 

made a vacuum-cleaner feel jealous. But 

she brightened very much at the idea of a 

thing to do. She nodded more vigorously. 

4 Is it the p-party ? " 

" You might call it a party." He set her 
on her feet. " They're in the room straight 
opposite across the hall. Just go in and say 
to them from me " — he told her what to say. 
11 Can you remember that ? " 

tf Oh, yes. It sounds funny to me. Will 
they understand ? " 

" You see ! Well, perhaps — look, if they 
don't, give them this." He wrote on a slip 
of paper and handed it to her. 

SIX persons awaited the little girl. The 
strikers' deputation consisted of four 
men and two women. They were 
gathered in the great dining-room, and 
waited with rather sad, anxious eyes fixed 
on the door. Have you ever seen the eyes 
of bullocks looking out through the gates 
of a slaughter-house ? They had been kept 
waiting a long time and they boded no good 
from the deiay. 


Thai strike breaker ! 



The Strike-Breaker 

The handle of the door turned slowly. 

" Oh, my God ! " said one of the women. 

The door, instead of opening very wide to 
admit the master, opened but a few inches. 
The little girl slid in through the aperture 
and turned and stood on tip- toe to put both 
hands to the handle and shut it again, 

The deputation simply stared. 

The little girl came up to the anxiously 
waiting group, " If you please," she said, 
" my dear uncle says your terms are granted/' 

The deputation simply stared. 

The little girl nodded in a friendly way. 
f " Yes, your terms are granted. That's what 
my dear uncle told me to tell you/ 1 

They were all on their feet. 

" Granted ! " cried one ; and " Granted ! " 

The woman who had made the exclamation 
as the door-handle began to turn came 
forward quickly and struck her hands 
together upon her shrunken bosom before 
the little girl, M Dearie, you wouldn't 
deceive— — Dearie, for the love of God— — " 
' There's this paper/* said the little girl, 
rather surprised, for she had never been to a 
party like this before. 

The paper went to the hands of an old 

The door, instead of opening very wide to admit the master, opened but a few inches, Hie 

wys your terms are granted/ 


A-. S. M. Hutchinson 


man who had had the centre place in the 
group- He read it out in a trembling voice. 

Your demands are granted. The works will 
open in all departments at 6.o a.rm to-morrows 
The new* scale will take effect forthwith, 

Henry Bass£tt. 
X.B. — Fa rnacemen should attend at 4*0 a.m. 

The old man dropped terrifically on 
his chair and buried his head in hi* 

Someone said , M Praise God I Praise God ! ** 
The woman facing the little girl dropped 
on her knees and clasped the little girl 
terribly to her heart. 

little girl slid in and came up to the deputation* * If you please/ she said, * my dear uncle 
The deputation simply stared," r^OCjIP 1, 






7 y * 


l^A^flAA i * * *>fVragfl ft ft A MAS 




*C7i£ Romantic Story of the 
Manuscript of 




ZftCow First 'Published. 

The history of the following remarkable document must first 
be told in the words of Lady Thompson, the present possessor 
of the manuscript : — 

" This authentic private Journal of the Empress Mane- Louise was 
bequeathed to me from my grandmother, Mrs. Smijth Windham, who herself 
translated, but never published, a considerable portion of it. This, together 
with my own fragments, has now been edited and the translation completed 
by Miss Frances A. Welby, 

*' Mrs- Smijth Windham left the following memorandum in the pocket of 
the little red volume that has outlived so many vicissitudes: — 

41 * In the year 1836 I became acquainted with a Swiss governess called 
Mile, MUller, who li?ed many years with Lady jane Peel. She was very 
intimate witli a governess I had for my children, and I came into the room 
one day as she was reading these Memoirs to her friend, I stopped to listen 
and then borrowed the book, which amused us much. 

Some months after this I proposed to her to let me purchase it, and 
after some hesitation she agreed. 

' All she knew of it was— that her brother, M. Miiller, was tutor to 
one of Marie- Louise's pages — who was in waiting when she escaped from 
the Tuileries — and he picked it up from the floor and gave it to his tutor 
some time afterwards. 

* The page** name is written in smalt characters on the first leaf of the 
book — " Vicompte de Pf * — I forget the name. This is all I know/ 

"It must be remembered that in 1810, when she wrote the first diary, 
Marie -Louise was only eighteen. She was born on December 12 P 179!, and 
was married to the Emperor Napoieon on April 2, 1810, She writes explicitly: 
'This book is for myself alone/' 

* The page's name was wtitttn in pencil and is now too 




...; .-..'"■'■'■■'■'"' 

:• .■■:.■_('.<■.:.: • • 

When t in her childhood, Marie- Louise, the eldest 
daughter of the Emperor of Austria? played with her little 
sisters and brothers, soldiers were their favourite toys* 
The ugliest, blackest, and most repulsive of them was 
christened Bonaparte* who was stuck all over with pins 
a nd had malediction s heaped on his wooden head. Indeed, 
up to the very date of her marriage she liad been accustomed 
to regard him as bearing a strong resemblance to the 
black-winged demons of the Inferno, pronging the sinners 
in the lake of boiling pitch. Suddenly t when she was 
eighteen, she was told that the conqueror of her country, 
and indeed of half Europe, desired to marry her and that 
it was her duty to consent. She went to the sacrifice with 
very much the feelings of a fairy princess wlw is wooed 
by an ogre. Napoleon himself described the marriage as 
an abyss coffered with flowers. 11 Row, then, did the 
eoent turn out? In her letters, the young wife declared 

thai she was perfectly happy, Btti she tells a dtjfterejtt 
story in the secrecy of her diary* 

,+ 1 let him grumble as he liked without answering hint. 
There is nothing that Quiets men so much as this* They 
are insupportable beings, and if tier I were to come hack 
in another world, I would not marry again — most 
certainly not ! " 

These are hardly the words of a perfectly happy brtde* 
The fad is that Napokon, although delighted with his 
yotmg wife, who, although not actually pretty, was brim- 
ming with life and charm, was still something of a 
domestic tyrant, Indeed, the light throwti upon his 
character in these pages is something of a retf elation 

Such is the document, of unique and historical im- 
portance, the most in ten sting portions of which we have 
now the pleasure of laying before our readers. 

I SET out from Compi£gne well content 
with the notion of such a pleasant 
journey. My previous travels had all 
been very sad. I imagined that this 
expedition would be delightful, and I am 
sure that I shall love travelling to distrac- 
tion. The Queen of Naples and the Grand 
Duke of Wurzbourg accompany us. I am 
particularly pleased to have the latter with 
me — he is so kind and so vivacious, I left 
Cdmpi6gne on April 27th, 1810, at nine in the 
morning. The country between Compi£gne 
and St. Quentin is veiy pretty, even beautiful, 
and very fertile. Along the whole of the 
road one sees little hills covered with fruit 
trees, now in full bloom, and fields of the most 
lovely green conceivable, intersected by small 
streams bordered with willows, and one sees 
many hamlets and villages, and what struck 
me most was the quantity of windmills, In 
every place the Emperor was received by the 
inhabitants with bells ringtng and cannon 
firing, and expressions of a devotion as simple 
as it was touching. Everywhere the young 
ladies presented us with flowers and with 
poems, most of which were very bad* 

We arrived at St. Quentin at midday, and 
were lodged in the Prefecture, where every- 
thing was uncomfortable and dirty — and 
still more disagreeable was it that 1 was 
accommodated more than half a mile away 
from the Emperor. He took dijmntr at 
once, and got on his horse to visit the forti- 
fications and the commencement of the canal 
of St. Quentin, which was completed that 

day, and which had been constructed from a 
plan given by the Emperor himself. I went 
to bed, since I wns stiff and bruised, not being 


Napoleon's second wife, the Empress 

Marie- Louise. 
Original from 



New Light on Napoleon 

yet accustomed to continuous travelling over 
paved roads. 

The Emperor made me get up at four 
o'clock to visit a cotton mill belonging to the 
Prfefet, which is superb ; the machines are 
very fine inventions. On our return we 
received the authorities. The Emperor con- 
versed with them for over two hours. These 
audiences are enough to kill one — one is 
obliged to remain standing all the time. 
After this the young ladies offered me 
products from their manufactures. 

The Emperor was much amused at telling 
me of a fall that Chevalier Jouan had. He 
was riding in the suite at a gallop, without 
looking where he was going, and was caught 
in the branch of a tree ; the horse went on, 
and after a few minutes he fell to the ground 
without hurting himself in the least. Un- 
kind gossips say that he believed himself 
dead for more than an hour, which is very 
like him. 

Next day we left St. Quentin at seven in 
the morning, and after crossing the whole 
town, which is not very large, we arrived at 
the canal, where we found two gondolas 
ready to receive us. The canal begins at St. 
Quentin and finishes at Cambrai, where it 
joins the Scheldt. It is over fifty miles in 
length, and has twenty-three locks. It is 
very wide and deep. We embarked and 
continued on our way beneath a blazing 
sun, which gave us terrible headaches. 
When we reached the first tunnel, into 
which the water had not yet been admitted, 
we entered carriages in order to pass through. 
It is over half a mile long, and is entirely 
cut out of the rock. The vault is very 
high, and was illuminated by two rows of 
lamps, which made a magnificent effect. It 
is a chef-d'oeuvre, unique of its kind. We 
continued our journey by carriage as far as 
the entrance to the second tunnel, where 
tents had been set up for dejeuner, which we 
welcomed like famished travellers. 

We went through this tunnel, which is 
nearly four miles long, in a boat towed by 
men, which was not very serviceable, for it 
let in water to the height of two inches. 
This wetted our feet, but there was no 
means of remedying it, and one had to bear 
up gaily. For me this was not difficult, as 
I have an iron constitution which nothing 


In addition we narrowly escaped capsizing, 
because the fat Prince Schwarzenberg was 
continually leaning out of the boat, and his 
weight threw it all on one side. This second 
tunnel was lit like the first, and at the end of 
every hundred toises [about six hundred and 
fifty feet] there was a shaft to let in daylight. 

After an hour and a half we reached the 
mouth, and got into .the carriages again. We 
saw the source of the Scheldt, that majestic 
river which, a hundred miles farther on, is so 
wide and deep that the largest battleships 
can enter it — here so narrow that one can 
easily jump over it with both feet together. 
It passes twee under the canal, which is 
carried over it by means of a bridge — this is 
so narrow that we were obliged to get out of 
the carriages and have them lifted .over by 
men. This proceeding delayed us more than 
an hour, and put the Queen of Naples into 
such a bad temper that one could not speak 
to her for the rest of the day. I cannot 
understand how people in travelling can 
complain and get impatient over such venial 
accidents. I, indeed, found them very 
trifling in comparison with all that I had to 
put up with in my other journeys, and of 
which I have never complained. 

We embarked again about a mile from 
Cambrai, and at half-past three we entered 
the basin which terminates the canal. On 
reaching the H6tel de Ville I went to bed — 
the sun had given me a shocking headache. 
I was, however, quite pleased with myself 
in that I had not complained once during the 
journey — it is true that the ill-humour of 
several of the ladies was sufficient to disgust 
me with it. 

The Queen of Naples left us at Cambrai. 
and with her Chevalier de Metternich — so 
much the better. I do not regret them, but 
it was very ungallant of the Grand Duke of 
Wurzbourg to desert us to follow" the Queen 
of Naples. It is only too true that when love 
and friendship are in the balance poor tender 
friendship must always be undermost. 

We only reached Brussels in the evening, 
and although it appeared to be a very fine, 
large town, I could not judge of it well, 
for we passed through it hurriedly. 

The country becomes still more beautiful 
between Brussels and Laeken. The Brussels 
Canal is surrounded by lines of magnifi- 
cent trees, which are backed by country 
houses and charming gardens. At the end 
of an hour we climbed a steepish hill, and 
arrived at Laeken. This is a fine enough 
palace which the Emperor bought from the 
Duke of Saxe Reschen. 

On our arrival the Emperor went at once 
to see the chateau. There are two vastly 
fine apartments on the ground floor, which 
is raised by a dozen steps from the garden. 
There are also a number of rooms on the 
entresol and on the first floor. 


I immediately took a bath to rid myself of 
the horrible dust. I do not know if the bath 
upset me because I got into it while I was 
very hot, bufricjnwa* seized with frightful 


His Wife's Honeymoon Diary ! 


cramp in the stomach and colic. The 
Emperor must needs send for Chevalier Jouan, 
who arrived and, after many florid and pom- 
pous phrases, informed the Emperor that I 
was in a delicate condition and might be 
taken ill if I continued my journey. The 
Emperor believed it, which annoyed me so 
much that I suffered still more. 

To revenge myself on Chevalier Jouan I 
pretended to be very ill. He hurried in, felt 

After the Emperor had received the 
deputations and we had taken dtjeuner, we 
set off across the garden at the extremity of 
which is the canal on which we were to em- 
bark. Here we were rejoined by the Viceroy 
and the King and Queen of Westphalia, who 
had arrived from Paris to accompany us on 
the journey. 

We went through four locks, at each of 
which we were delayed at least twenty-five 


The diary it written in the neat writing of the period in a small morocco-bound volume the 

size of note-paper. It is in French, a language with which Marie-Louise was perfectly 

familiar, as she had had French governesses since she was two years old. 

my pulse, declared that he could not find it, 
and rubbed my nose with vinegar. 

Happily, after five minutes I wished to 
return to life, for he was already talking of 
bleeding me. 

This little incident left me with a very 
strange opinion of him, for it could only be 
ignorance or the wiles of a clever courtier 
which made him act like that. I prefer to 
think it is the first. I should despise him 
too much if it were the second. It is, how- 
ever, true that we are living in such a delight- 
ful world that I must accustom myself to it. 
I fear, indeed, that this will be very difficult. 

The next day, April 30th, the Emperor, 
instead of letting me rest, awakened me at 
seven in the morning to go and see the garden. 
Fortunately, in his sleep he had forgotten 
Chr. Jouan 's fine phrases, and there was no 
further question of leaving me at Brussels. 

minutes. There is nothing more tiresome 
than a canal voyage — it takes an hour to 
travel about two miles. 

At Malines we began to see many trading 
vessels — they are large enough to undertake 
the voyage to the Indies. Never have I 
been so much entertained as during this day, 
when everything was a novelty to me. I had 
never seen any ships, so it was impossible to 
make either the Queen of Westphalia or 
myself take part in the conversation. 

Finally, at four o'clock, two hours after 
the turn of the tide, we entered the Rupel. A 
lock closes the entrance to it. On the wharf 
we found Admiral Missiessy, the Minister of 
the Marine, and all the other principal officers, 
who conducted us by a detestable road to a 
pretty little gondola, on which we embarked 
on the Pupel, which flows into the Scheldt 
at the distance of about two and a half miles. 


I2 4 

Sew Light on Napoleon 

After an hour we entered the Scheldt/ which 
is here prodigiously wide. The weather was 


We were saluted by a thousand guns, the 
report of which half-deafened us — me in 
particular, for since the occasion on which 
my father made me fire off an over-loaded 
cannon I have been unable to bear any loud 
noise without my left ear beginning to bleed. 

We climbed on board the Charlemagne, but 
it required courage to accomplish this, the 
gangway was like a ladder — the steps being 
so far apart that we had to clamber up on 
our knees. Moreover, there was wind enough 
to cause very disagreeable accidents. I am 
certain we exhibited our legs to the gentle- 
men, and I vowed never to climb up a battle- 
ship again without putting on trousers. The 
Minister of the Marine might really have been 
gallant enough to have had a better stairway 
constructed for us, but one sees in everything 
that he is a rude sailor. 

One needs to be very agile in mounting a 
battleship for the first time, in order not 
to lame oneself. I know I came back to 
Antwerp with a sprain, two lumps on my 
head, and a gown covered with tar. 

We disembarked at seven o'clock in the 
middle of an immense crowd, and continued 
our road in a carriage as far as the house of 
the Pr6fet, where we were indifferently 
lodged. My room looked on one side upon a 
little garden, on another upon the court, and 
on the third upon a little street so narrow and 
dark, and from which there issued such terrible 
exhalations that I was not able to open the 
windows during the whole of my stay. We 
proceeded to dine, and then we went to bed. 

On the ist of May the weather was most 
magnificent. The Emperor went out at 
break of day to see the fortifications, and he 
gave us as a rendezvous the Prefecture Mari- 
time, which is a very fine house, where we 
were to breakfast. The Emperor made us 
go there at eight o'clock, and at one o'clock 
he had not yet arrived. What fine ennui 
and what impatience we felt in thus waiting 
for him may readily be imagined. 

At last we embarked at two o'clock to go 
on board the Anversois. Happily, this time 
the gangway was a little better. The Emperor 
made the ship's crew manoeuvre, while the 
King of Westphalia amused himself by 
climbing up all the masts. The Emperor 
put a Dutch frigate under sail ; after that 
he went on the Due d'Almaie and the frigate, 
but I had too vivid a recollection of my two 
bruises of the evening previous to have any 
desire to accompany him, so that I waited 
for him on board the Anversois. We entered 
as on the evening before, to the sound of a 
thousand cannon. On coming home I found 

Digitized by ^OOglC 

two rooms on fire. They say this is a sign 
of good luck. I could have done very well 
without this sign, for we had a terrible smoke 
all the day. In the evening the Emperor 
received the authorities and the ladies resi- 
dent in the town. 


On the 2nd the Emperor saw the rest ot 
the fortifications. He returned for break- 
fast. I was again annoyed by that disagree- 
able Chevalier Jouan (who urged upon the 
Emperor not to take me into the island of 
Walcheren), and by the Emperor, who lis- 
tened to him. Doctors are in reality igno- 
rant ; they do not know that more harm is 
done to us, even when ill, by opposing us 
than by letting us do as we wish ; but I can 
be obstinate, too, when I want anything, and 
we shall see which of us will prevail. 

The Emperor took me to the dockyard 
to see the Friedland, of eighty-four guns, 
launched. The chantier is the place where 
the ships are built. In that of Antwerp 
several ships and frigates can be constructed 
at the same time. Their hulls are placed in 
scaffoldings of wood, in which they remain 
until entirely completed. There were nine 
here at this time. 

The Emperor made another tour in the 
environs, and I took a drive with the Queen 
of Westphalia upon the ramparts and about 
the town. They say that Antwerp in another 
year will be one of the strongest places in the 
Empire. There are some fine streets in the 
city. The tower of the cathedral is as high 
and as beautiful as that of Strasbourg : the 
view from it is superb. I should much have 
liked to have ascended it, but when one 
travels with the Emperor it is very difficult 
to amuse and to instruct oneself. One can 
never do as one wishes. 

On the 3rd May the Emperor went to visit 
the arsenal, the docks, and the magazines. I 
remained at home to be wearied with the 
ladies. I am a great deal too uncivilized to 
remain for a whole day in company. There 
is only the Duchesse of Montebello whom I 
take delight in. She is natural and good, 
whereas these ladies are ill-natured and full 
of pretensions. 

In the evening we saw all the ladies belong- 
ing to the town. 

On the 4th the Emperor went again to see a 
ship. I again remained at home, my foot 
hurt me too much to walk. In the evening 
there was a ball ; as I was lame I had a good 
reason for not dancing. Besides, I have such 
obliging doctors about me that they give me 
an apology whenever I wish. 

It was very stormy all day, and hopes of 
being able to start on the next were given up, 
as the wind was contrary, and we should be 
obliged to cross an arm of the sea in order to 


His Wife's Honeymoon Diary ! 


As the horses of the peasants are employed, each man wants to mount his own Steed, and 

there are sometimes as many postilions as horses." 
Vol. 1*5.-9. 



New Light on Napoleon 

reach Flushing. We were compelled to 
wait with patience. 

On the 5th the weather was still very black 
and the storm very violent. The Emperor, 
who was tired of waiting, suddenly decided 
in the evening that we should go by land and 
should depart the next morning at six o'clock, 
taking as few people as possible, clothes for 
two days, and two services. 

It was decided that there should be but the 
King and Queen of Westphalia, the Viceroy, 
the Prince de Neufchdtel, the Grand Mar6chal 
Due d' Is trie, the Duchesse de Montebello, 
Chevaliers de Beauharnais, de St. Aignan, 
de Bondy, and de Montaran. The others and 
the ladies would wait for us at Antwerp. 

We left Antwerp, then, on the 6t*h, three 
hours later than the Emperor had ordered — 
for with him it always happens thus. The 
beginning of the road was sufficiently agree- 
able. For some two miles we passed between 
country houses, but at the end of an hour all 
the beauty disappeared and we found our- 
selves in a desert of sand, where there was 
not a blade of grass, only here and there 
some stunted fir-trees, of which the largest 
were no bigger than the least in a certain for it 
noire that I came to know afterwards. This 
district formerly belonged to Holland. 


The road became every moment a little 
worse. The sand was so deep that it became 
necessary to put on twelve or sixteen horses 
to each carriage, and notwithstanding that, 
we only went at a foot's pace. The horses 
are so badly harnessed in this country that 
there is no means of getting on ; instead of 
bits, cords are put in their mouths, and the 
traces are so thin that they break every 
instant. As the horses of the peasants are 
employed, each man wants to mount his own 
steed, and there are sometimes as many 
postilions as horses. I have counted as many 
as a dozen. When you wish to make them go 
faster they bewail the lot of their animals, 
and if you hurry them too much they unyoke, 
go away with their horses, and leave you there 
in the middle of the sand. This happened to 
several carriages of our suite. 

The hour for dijeuner had long passed ; it 
was nearly two o'clock, and the Emperor 
would never allow me to eat in a carriage, and 
for a fine reason — he said that a woman ought 
never to want to eat. The anger that these 
precious arguments inspired me with, joined 
to my hunger, gave me so terrible a headache 
that when we arrived at Breda at four o'clock 
I thought that I should be obliged to stop on 
the road. But the Emperor, who treated us 
like grenadiers, forced us to continue our 
journey after his dijeuner. 

We took dijeuner in a rather wretched 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

chateau which formerly belonged to the 
Prince of Orange. Breda is a small town, but 
is rather pretty ; it contains from seven to 
eight thousand inhabitants, and has excellent 


After the Emperor had received all the 
authorities we resumed our journey. I was 
in so bad a humour that the Emperor was 
displeased, but I was indifferent to that, 
and I let him grumble as he liked without 
answering him. There is nothing that quiets 
men so much as this. They are insupport- 
able beings, and if I were ever to come back 
in another world I would not marry again — - 
most certainly not. 

The road was still as monotonous and 
the weather was dreadful. The wind blew 
terribly, and the rain was so heavy that we 
were inundated, for the Emperor, contrary 
to his usual practice, found that it was 
stifling, and opened all the -windows for the 
pleasure of contradicting me. At eight 
o'clock the Marshal Due de Reggio came 
with several generals to our carriage and 
informed us that we were only an hour's 
journey distant from Bois-le-Duc. Not- 
withstanding this, we did not arrive there 
till midnight. 

I found there, fortunately, one of my 
waiting -women . I was so ill and fatigued that 
I went to bed directly without eating. I had 
dreadful pains in the stomach, and fever,- 
besides which there was so much noise in the 
court that it was impossible to sleep. I sent 
to find Chevalier Bourdier, and the con- 
soling news was brought to me that he had 
been forgotten at Breda, where he had got 
out of his carriage for a minute. Finally, 
at one o'clock, I heard my door open (for it 
had neither bolt nor key) and I heard some- 
one enter very softly. It was the Prince 
de Neufch&tel, who supposed that he was 
in the Emperor's room, and who, when he 
saw me, was quite confounded. 

At last, at two o'clock, Chevalier Jouan 
arrived half dead, covered from head to foot 
with clay, for he had fallen into a hole. 1 
begged him to give me some h6tera [hederin, 
a febrifuge]. He went to fetch the medicine 
chest and found all the bottles broken, so 
that I was obliged to resign myself to wait 
till I was cured without remedies. 

At three o'clock the Duchesse de Monte- 
bello arrived ; her carriage had remained four 
hours in the sand, notwithstanding all the 
diligence of Chevalier de St. Aignan and of 
Prince Aldobrandini. As these gentlemen 
saw that they could not drag the car- 
riage from the sand, they unyoked the horses, 
took for a saddle a sack of oats, and went to 
seek help at Bois-le-Duc — whilst Chevalier 
de Beauh&mais, frstead of assisting them, 


His Wife's Honeymoon Diary ! 


remained quietly in the carriage, grumbling 
because he could not get. on. The Due de 
Bassano, losing patience because his coach- 
man would not proceed, got out of his carriage 
with evil designs against that poor man, but 
heaven punished him — he fell into a pool up 
to his neck, and although he became very 
polite to the peasant, the latter would not 
pull him out, and he was obliged to remain 
there until another carriage came to his 
assistance. There was indeed a great deal 
to laugh at when on the next day the com- 
pany related their adventures. 

I was so tired on the 7th that I did not get 
out of bed till dinner-time. Moreover, the 
town and the environs were not sufficiently 
ravishing to tempt one to visit them. The 
Emperor went out to see the fortifications 
and received the authorities. I passed my 
day in talking with the Duchesse, for all my 
books and work had remained at Antwerp. 

The following morning we quitted Bois-le- 
Duc and finally arrived, at nine o'clock in 
the evening, at Bergen-op-Zoom. 

The houses there are dreadful — that in which 
we were lodged was the best in the town ; 
lor staircase we had a fine wooden ladder, 
and for apartments two rooms ; notwith- 
standing~Which the Emperor insisted on stay- 
ing there the next day. The other houseswere 
in the same style. The first person whom I 
met was Chevalier Bourdier, who had estab- 
,lished himself in my room. He was furious 
because he had been left at Breda, and assured 
me that he would send in his resignation. It 
was in vain that I talked to him ; I could not 
calm him. I got angry in my turn, and I 
told him to go because he wearied me. 
Happily, he fulfilled this request imme- 
diately ; he did not expect that a like fate 
.was in store for him the next day. 


We sat down to dinner. The Emperor 
was terribly displeased at his quarters, and 
as he could not lay the blame on one of us 
it all fell upon the dinner. At each dish he 
said, " What a bad rago&t ! Now, if there 
were a gigot ! " It was brought to him. 
Then he said, " If there were some salad ! " 
It was brought to him. When he saw that 
the same happened for each thing he went 
off to bed. But what amused me most 
was the Duchesse de Montebello, who was 
laughing, notwithstanding the signs I made 
to her. She is really not courtier enough for 
the world in which we live, and she has 
one great fault which will turn out badly 
for her — it is that she is too much attached 
to me. 

Every one retired to their rooms deter- 
mined to sleep the whole of the next day. 
The King and Queen of Westphalia found fair 
accommodation, but without beds or chairs ; 


the Prince de Neufch&tel a room without any 
glass to the window, so that he was obliged 
to make use of his papers to stop it up. 

The Viceroy, who arrived too late fof 
dinner, found himself quartered on an in- 
valid who had a dreadful catarrh, and who 
for dinner gave him some boiled lemonade 
and some bread, and in presenting him with 
the glass said to him, " I cannot offer you a 
better ; it is the one out of which I drink 
myself," and the Viceroy was obliged to make 
use of it. 

I went to bed with the firm intention of 
not being awakened the next day. It was a 
vain hope, for the Emperor, who apparently 
did not find himself sufficiently well lodged, 
mounted his horse at four o'clock and decided 
on his ride that we should be awakened at 
seven to start at eight. 

He decided, also, to leave one service here. 
The confusion caused by this unexpected 
departure was so great that all the packages 
were left behind. The Emperor, who would 
not wait, nearly left there also the King and 
Queen of Westphalia, who arrived at the 
moment when we were embarking on the 
canal. The Viceroy, who had not found his 
lodging sufficiently comfortable, had slept 
elsewhere, and, it appears, had told his valet 
to come and fetch him late in the morn- 
ing. The man had taken away his uniform, 
and had locked the door from outside. 
Happily, the room was on the ground floor, 
and the Viceroy jumped out from the window 
on to the place rather lightly clothed, to the 
great astonishment of all the inhabitants. 

I do not know who was ill-natured enough to 
tell this story to the Emperor^ who was very 
angry ; it was the cause of the Viceroy being 
sent back to Paris on our return to Brussels. 

We embarked at the place where the canal 
rejoins the Scheldt, which is here more than 
two miles wide. The tide begins to be felt 
here. The sea air gave us such an appetite 
that we partook of a cold dejeuner, I do not 
know what evil spirit had given us these ideas, 
for everybody became very ill. The Queen 
of Westphalia and myself were the least so, 
because we had taken the precaution of 
immediately placing ourselves in the open 
air. But the Emperor, the Viceroy, and 
the Due d'Istrie were violently sick. 


This determined them to disembark at ten 
o'clock upon the Isle of South Beveland, with- 
out knowing if there were any carriages there 
to convey us to the other side. The Due 
dTstrie by means of inquiry at last found us 
two or three conveyances of the peasants, 
which were neither carts nor carriages, and 
to which two horses were yoked. They were 
so high that a ladder was needed to get into 



New Light on Napoleon 

them, and so narrow that two people could 
scarcely sit together. They had no springs 
and were very hard, and, to complete the 
misfortunes, there were a quantity of very 
disagreeable small occupants. 

The Due d'Istrie mounted his horse to act 
as courier, in order that boats should be pre- 
pared for us on the other side of the island. 
The carriage in which were the Duchesse de 
Montebello, the Comtesse de Liverstein, and 
the Viceroy upset and was broken into a 
thousand pieces — the latter alighted upon 
his legs, the Duchesse escaped with a tumble, 
but the Comtesse de Liverstein was dragged 
by the horses and was badly hurt on the 

We continued our journey as far as 
Middelburg, where we arrived at five o'clock. 

My apartment looked upon the court, 
which was filled with fine trees. We were 
entertained by some military music which 
was charming, and which I would have 
listened to with pleasure if it had not pre- 
vented me from sleeping. 

My attendants arrived at last at three 
o'clock, so that I was able to go to bed, but 
they did not bring me anything to change, so 
the Emperor will be obliged to see me until 
he leaves this place with the same dress and 
the same chemise. 

I made up my mind to this lightly enough, 
but the Queen of Westphalia did not do the 
same ; her women did not arrive for twenty- 
four hours after us, so that she made the 
unfortunate Comtesse de Liverstein wait 
all night in the antechamber to make tea 
for her, and when it was brought she 
scolded her, would not have any, and cried 
from rage. One must really be an angel in 
sweetness to support her manners. I know 
very well what I should have done if I had 
been Dame du Palais ! 

I did not awake on the ioth till midday, 
and the Emperor surprised us agreeably by 
saying that he would take us at two o'clock 
to see the ocean. 


He gave us rendezvous at the Fort de 
Haag, for three o'clock. The Queen of 
Westphalia kept me waiting more than an 
hour, which put me into as great a state of 
impatience as her own. I was really angry 
in thinking how vexed the Emperor would 
be with me if I did not arrive, therefore 
I was out of temper during the whole day. I 
am in general a good-natured person, perhaps 
too weak, but when I am in a passion (as that 
happens very rarely) I am perhaps more 
wayward than other women. 

We arrived at four o'clock at the Fort de 
Haag, behind which are the dunes, wbi^h are 
hills of sand of differs 

by Google 

less, we could see the tips of masts, which 
told us that the sea was not far distant. 

As I was impatient at not being able to see 
it at once, we made them, while waiting, give 
us some cream, which is excellent in this 
country, and which is preserved in green 
bottles of a singular composition. 

The Emperor wished to show us the ocean 
directly, but the dunes were impassable at 
this place, and we were obliged to make 
another small journey of two hours in car- 
riages to find a place where we could ascend. 
At last we found it, and I was much astonished 
on getting out to find my legs deeply buried 
in sand. Each step we took was equally 
troublesome, but it was nothing for travellers 
as intrepid as ourselves, and we were well 
repaid by the fine view that was discovered 
when we reached the top of the hills. 

We saw the ocean, which appeared like an 
immense surface of water bounded only by 
the horizon ; the sun was setting, and 
coloured the sea like a rainbow*. The »ea 
was very calm, except on part of the shore, 
where it dashed with violence upon the 
rocks. The Emperor called for maps, and 
conversed with the engineers. The Queen of 
Westphalia and I amused ourselves by pick- 
ing up the shells with which the sea-shore 
was covered. Some were charming. It 
is said, however, that those of the Medi- 
terranean and of the Indies are infinitely 
finer. These shells, combined with the un- 
wholesome air, were the cause, thanks to the 
malice of the King, of my having three 
attacks of fever. 

In the middle of our amusement I saw that 
the Viceroy and the Due d'Istrie were watch- 
ing us in a very peculiar manner and were 
laughing at us very much. I had no time 
to ask them the reason before the sea came 
with great force and faster than we were able 
to fly, and wetted us to the knees. Fortu- 
nately, it returned as quickly as it had come. 
They explained to us that this was the usual 
effect of the tide, but these gentlemen might 
have been gallant enough to apprise us of it. 

We gave up our search to go and ask the 
Emperor for permission to change. The 
answer was : " Remain, ladies ; this bath will 
do you good," and he made us wait till eight 
o'clock. When we got home we dined, and 
the same military music was performed as 
on the previous evening. 

The nth was a shocking day, but it 
did not prevent the Emperor from going a 
second time to see Flushing. I remained 
in bed with a fever. I do not know what 
has become of my iron constitution ; it has 
disappeared entirely. I am sure that it is 
owing to Messieurs les Mede^ins, who during 
the whole journey have done nothing but 
dose me. 

The Emperor, on his return, related to us 

j i 1 1 .* 1 1 1 


His Wife's Honeymoon Diary ! 


The Queen ot Westphalia and 1 amused ourselves by picking up shells, when the sea 
came faster than we were able to fly and wetted us to the knees," 

that he had seen an English frigate, which 
approached within range of the cannon of 
Flushing, and that he had ordered them to 
bombard her so hotly that she? retired 
quicker than she had come, 

On the morning of the 12th the Emperor 
held a Council, It is not really our fault if 
we heard everything, for the Saloon was 
close to my room and the Emperor shouted 
terribly loudlv. 

by Google 

Original from 



7 #K 

MR. JOSEPH P. CRA\ followed the 
usual routine observed by mem- 
bers of the " Americans in London " 
Society on the occasion of their 
weekly lunches. He left his coat and hat 
in the cloak-room, and deposited the ticket 
which he received in exchange in his waist- 
poat pocket. Afterwards he slipped into the 
ante-room, where a little crowd of men were 
thronging around a narrow counter, ex- 
changing hearty greetings and indulging in 
various forms of pre-luncheon nourishment. 
Mr. Cray, who had a mesmeric way of getting 
served over the shoulders of waiting throngs, 
disposed of a small cocktail in a matter of 
seconds, made his way to the reception- 
room, where the guest of the day stood by 
the side of his host, exchanging platitudes 
and handshakes with the little stream of 
arrivals, and a few minutes later wandered 
into the luncheon-room, where he discovered 
the round table for four at which he was 
placed, exchanged friendly greetings with 
the two men who were already in their seats, 
recognized the fact with a little sigh that 
they were not kindred spirits, and glanced 
with interest at the vacant place on, his 
right hand, no claimant to which had as yet 

It was a crowded gathering, and it takes 
some time for six hundred men to take their 
places and be seated. Mr. Cray studied the 
menu with mild approval, glanced through 
the wine list, and decided to postpone for 
the moment his decision as to liquid refresh- 
Copyright, 1921, by E. 

Digitized by ^iOOQIC 




Illustr>miGcl by & ABBEY* * 

raent, and finally, yielding to an impulse of 
not unnatural curiosity, he raised the card 
which reposed upon the tablecloth opposite 
the vacant chair on his right and read it : — 
Mr. Otto M. Schreed. 
The four walls of the banqucting-rootn fell 
away. The pleasant hum of voices, the 
clatter of crockery and the popping of corks 
fell upon deaf ears. Mr. Cray's blue eyes 
were set in a steady stare. Gone his morn- 
ing coat, his irreproachable linen and care- 
fully-tied tie, his patent boots and well- 
creased trousers. He was back in the tight, 
ill-fitting khaki of months ago, a strange, 
sober figure in the midst of the bustle of life, 
yet living under the shadow of death. He 
stood at the door of the canteen and he saw 
them marching by, a long, snake-like pro- 
cession, some singing, some shouting cheery 
greetings, some pale and limping. Back to 
the opening in the hills he could trace them, 
the lull which had once been a forest and 
now seemed as though a cataclysm had 
smitten it, a nightmare of bare stumps, of 
shell and crater holes. The whole horizon 
seemed streaked with little puffs of smoke. 
The sound of the. guns was incessant. There 
were times when even the ground beneath 
his feet shrank. The boys "were on their way 
to the mess tents after a stiff twelve hours. 
He stepped back into the canteen, tasted 
the coffee in the great urn, ran through 
the stock of extra provisions, looked care- 
fully round to see that all was ready for the 
hordes of his customers who would presently 

Phillips Oppenheim. 

Ml I I '.' I 1 1 


E. Phillips Oppenhetm. 


throng the place. They came much sooner 
than they should have done, a little sullen, 
many of them cursing, pushed and struggled 
for a place at the counter, swept him ckar of 
the whole of his stock of extra provisions. 
He could hear their voices. 

M More of that filthy tack ! " 

" Say, there's some of those chaps at 
Washington deserv r e to swing ! " 

" What is it to-day, boys ? " Mr, Cray 

There was a string of lurid adjectives, Mr. 
Cray looked as concerned as he felt. 

" More of that stinking beef, eh ? M he 
asked, sympathetically. 

He was met with a chorus of groans. A 
score or more had left the counter already, ill 
before they could reach their coffee* He 
heard the curses of further hordes struggling 
to get in. Then the scene faded away* He 
walked down the great impromptu annexe 
to the hospital and spoke to one of the doc- 
tors. The doctor's adjectives made the 
words of his patients sound 2ike the babbling 
of children. 

" More cases of that bad beef/* was the 
plain English of what he said. " We are just 
in the one corner of the line, too, where we 
can't rely on stores for a few days* Curse 
the man who ever made the stuff, and the 
Government inspector who passed It." , * * 

There was a little movement by Mr. Cray's 
side* He glanced up, A tall, well-built- man 
of early middle age was taking his *eat. The 
two men exchanged greetings, 

" Mr* Otto Schrced ? " Mr. Crav observed. 

Yielding to an impulse of not unnatural curiosity, be raised the card opposite the vacant 

chair and read it/* 
rv v ^h r^nrtnfr* Original from 


1 3 2 

Mr. Cray's Adventures 

The man winced a little, but acknowledged 
his identity. 

" And your name ? " he asked. 

" Mr. Joseph P. Cray," Mr. Cray replied. 
" We seem to be neighbours, Mr. Schreed. 
Will you join me in a bottle of wine ? " 

" That's a great idea," was the hearty 

So Mr. Cray did what those few months ago 
he would have deemed impossible — he fra- 
ternized with Mr. Otto Schreed, of Chicago, 
exporter of tinned beef. They talked to- 
gether oi many subjects. Their conversa- 
tion was the conversation of two patriotic 
and high-minded Americans, with the obvious 
views of the well-meaning man. Mr. Schreed, 
encouraged towards the end of the meal by 
his companion's friendliness, and warmed a 
little by the wine which he had drunk, 
became confidential. 

44 Say, it's a hard question I'm going to put 
to you, Mr. Cray," he said, lowering his voice 
a little, " but does my name suggest anything 
to you ? " 

Mr. Cray took up the card and looked 
at it. 

" Can't say that it does," he replied, 
"except that your front name reads Ger- 

" That ain't it," the other observed. ' My 
father was a German all right, but I was born 
in Chicago, and I am a good American 
citizen. It isn't that. I was one of the un- 
lucky devils that got into some trouble with 
the Government contractors." 

44 And I was one of those," Mr. Cray mused, 
" who spent a hundred dollars cabling to the 
head of the Y.M.C.A. in the States exactly 
my opinion of you." But aloud, Mr. Cray's 
words betrayed nothing of this fact. 

" Say, that was hard luck ! " he admitted. 
" How did it happen ? " 

" Just as those things do happen," the 
other explained, " however almighty careful 
you may be. We were canning night and 
day, with Government officials standing over 
us, and Washington wiring all the time, - Get 
a move on. Get a move on. We want the 
stuff.' I guess some of the foremen got a bit 
careless. I was worn out myself. The 
weather was moist and hot, and a load or two 
of stuff got in that shouldn't. Not but what 
I always believed," Mr. Schreed went on, 
" that the complaints were exaggerated ; 
but anyway the Y.M.C.A. busybodies over 
yonder took it up, and they got me before 
the Court." 

44 Did it cost you much ? " Mr. Cray 

" They fined me fifty thousand ' *Uars," 
the other replied, " and I h;»<! ••■ n out. 
Just at the time, too," he we' *< itiy, 

44 when one was making s> 
that one couldn't count it." 


IT was just at this moment that Mr. Cray 
was on the point of raising his voice and 
of speaking words which, without doubt, 
would have led to his neighbour's precipitate 
ejection from the room. And then something 
struck him. There was something more than 
the natural humiliation of a punished man in 
Mr. Schreed 's drawn face and furtive ex- 
pression. There was something beyond the 
look of the man who has done wrong and 
borne an unacceptable punishment. There 
was still fear ; there was still terror of some 
unnamed possibility. Mr. Cray saw this, and 
he held his peace. He took his thoughts 
back a few months to the little conversation 
he had had with the doctor in that impromptu 
hospital. He recalled the latter's impas- 
sioned words, and he choked down certain 
rebellious feelings. He decided to offer the 
right hand of fellowship to the unfortunate 
Mr. Otto Schreed. 

Mr. Otto Schreed was alone and friendless 
in a strange city, with the shadow of disgrace 
resting upon his unattractive name. He 
was more than disposed, therefore, to accept 
the advances of this genial and companion- 
able new acquaintance. He was not by dis- 
position a gregarious person, but he was too 
uncultured to find any pleasure in books or 
pictures, the newspapers of London were an 
unknown world to him, and a certain measure 
of companionship became therefore almost a 
necessity. It appeared that he was staying 
at the Milan Hotel, and it was quite natural, 
therefore, that he should see a great deal of 
his new friend during the next few days. He 
was not at first disposed to be communica- 
tive. He said very little about his plans, 
and he asked a great many personal ques- 
tions, some of which Mr. Cray evaded, and 
others of which he answered with artless 
candour. Mr. Cray's connection with the 
Y.M.C.A. and his work in France was not 
once alluded to. 

44 Say, what's keeping you over here ? " 
Mr. Schreed asked one day. *' You've 
nothing against the other side ? " 

44 Haven't I ! " Mr. Cray replied. ,4 That's 
where you're making the mistake of your life. 
I am not a drunkard," he went on, warming 
to his subject, 44 but I am a man who loves 
his liberty, and I hate a country where the 
bars are crowded out with soft drinks, awl 
where the darned waiters wink and jerk 
their thumbs round the corner towards the 
apothecary's shop when you want a drop <»f 
Scotch. I am over here, Schreed, my lad, 
till the United States comes to its senses on 
the liquor question, and over here I mean to 
stop until then. What about yourself ? " 

JSchreed had been exceedingly close- 

ibout his own movements, but this 

spoke with more freedom of his 

iginal fi 
>ITY OF Mil 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 


" I am not so strong as you on the liquor 
question/ ' he admitted, " but I feel. I have 
been hardly done with over there by the 
Government, and I'm not hurrying back yet 
awhile. I thought some," he went on, after 
a moment's pause, glancing sideways at Mr. 
Cray as though to watch the effect of his 
words, " of taking a little tour out to the 
battlefields of France." 

" That's quite an idea," Mr. Cray admitted, 
with interest. 

His companion looked around to make 
sure that they were alone. 

" I don't mind confiding to you, Cray," he 
said, " that I have another reason for want- 
ing to get out there. When the Stores 
Department discovered that something was 
wrong with those few thousand tins of beef 
of mine, they burnt the lot. They sent a 
certificate to Washington as to its condition, 
upon which I was convicted and fined, 
although I was well able to prove that the 
week the defective canning must have been 
done I was taking a few days' vacation. 
However, that's neither here nor there. I 
made inquiries as to whether any of it was 
still in existence, and I was told that before 
any had been opened a matter of fifty tins or 
so had been doled out in some French village 
where the peasants hadn't got any food. 
Nothing was ever heard about these." 

" I see," Mr. Cray murmured, and there 
was 'nothing in his face to indicate that he 
had fotmd the intelligence interesting. 

"I kind of thought," Mr. Schreed con- 
tinued, " that I'd like to look around over 
there, and if any of those tins were still in 
existence I'd buy them up and destroy them, 
so as to avoid any further trouble. You see, 
they all have my name and trade mark on 
the outside. The Government insisted upon 

" Rather like looking for a needle in a hay- 
stack," Mr. Cray remarked. 

" Not so much," the other replied. " I 
know the name of the place where our men 
were billeted when they opened the stuff, 
and the name of the village to which they 
sent fifty tins. I thought I'd just look 
around there, and if there are no traces of 
any — well, I've done the best I could. Then 
I thought some of coming home by Holland." 

" Business in Holland, eh ? " Mr. Cray 

" Not exactly business — or rather, if it is, 
it wouldn't take more than an hour or two," 
Mr. Schreed announced. 

" When did you think of going ? " 

" Next week. They tell me they're run- 
ning some tours from Paris out to the battle- 
fields. The one that goes to Ch&teau Thierry 
would serve my purpose. The worst of it is 
I can't speak a w r ord of the lingo." 

" It's dead easy," Mr. Cray observed. 


" I've been going to Paris too many years 
not to have picked up a bit." 

" You wouldn't care about a trip out with 
me, I suppose," Mr. Schreed suggested, 
" just in a friendly fashion, you understand, 
each paying his own dues ? " 

" I don't know," Mr. Cray replied, cau- 
tiously. " Next week did you say you were 
going ? " 

" I'm fixing it up to leave on Wednesday/' 

" It's some trip," Mr. Cray said, thought- 

" A day or two in Paris wouldn't do us any 
harm," Mr. Schreed remarked, with a slow 
smile which degenerated into a leer. 

11 We'll take a bite together at seven o'clock 
to-night," Mr. Cray decided, M and I'll let you 
know. I don't know as I can see anything 
to prevent my going, providing I can get 
accommodation. I might be able to help 
you with the language, too. Finish up in 
Holland, you said, eh ? " 

" I don't know as you'd care to go up that 
far with me," Mr. Schreed said, doubtfully. 
" I sha'n't be stopping there, either. You 
might wait in Paris." 

Mr. Cray smiled beatifically. 

" Paris," he murmured. ' Gee ! I think 
I'll go, Schreed." 

MR. OTTO SCHREED was both sur- 
prised and gratified at his companion's 
proficiency in the French language 
and his capacity for making travelling 
endurable. Their journey to Paris was 
accomplished under the most favourable 
circumstances, and by dint of a long 
argument and great tact the very inferior 
accommodation which had been secured for 
them was cancelled, and rooms with a small 
salon and bathrooms en suite provided at a 
well-known hotel. As a guide to Paris itself, 
except to the American bars and the restau- 
rants pure and simple, Mr Cray was perhaps 
a little disappointing, but his companion 
himself, during those first few days, was rest- 
less and eager to be off on their quest. On 
the third day Mr. Cray announced their immi- 
nent departure. 

14 Say, I've done better for you than these 
Cook's chars-a-bancs," he announced, tri- 
umphantly. "I've engaged a private car, 
and we can get out to Chateau Thierry, see the 
whole of that part of the line, visit the 
village you were speaking of, and get back 
before nightfall. Some hustle, what ? " 

" Fine ! " Mr. Schreed declared, showing 
every impatience to depart. " Does the man 
speak any English ? " 

" I don't know as he does," Mr. Cray 
admitted ; " but that don't matter any, I 
guess, as long as I'm around all the time." 

Mr. Schreed seemed a little disappointed. 

" How about making the inquiries in 

llll II <uM I I 



Mr. Cray's Adventures 

these small grocers' shops, or what you call 
them ? " 

" I shall be along," Mr. Cray reminded him. 
" You can stand by my side and hear what 
they say." 

So the pilgrimage started. Mr. Cray felt 
a great silence creep over him as he stood 
once more on well-remembered ground. It 
was a bright day in early October, and the 
familiar landmarks for many miles were 
visible. Behind that remnant of wood a 
thousand Americans had been ambushed. 
On the hillside there, a great mine had been 
sprung. Down in the valley below, the corpses 
of his countrymen had lain so thick that Mr. 
Cray found himself remembering that one 
awful night when every spare hand — he him- 
self included — had been pressed into the 
stretcher-bearers' service. He grew more 
and more silent as they neared their journey's 
end. Mr. Schreed appeared to be a trifle 

" Lutaples is the name of the village we 
want," he announced, as they began to pass 
a few white-plastered cottages. 

Mr. Cray nodded. 

" J know," he said, reminiscently. " Our 
canteen was in the hollow, just at the bottom 

" Our canteen ? " Mr. Schreed repeated. 

" The American canteen," Mr. Cray ex- 
plained. " I've been making inquiries for 
you. So far as I can gather, there was only 
one shop in Lutaples at the time, and it's up 
this end of the village. However, we'll soon 
find out all about it now." 

THEY stopped at a small estaminet, 
and here trouble nearly came, for no 
disguise could conceal from the warm- 
hearted little landlord the kindly, absurd 
fat man in tight uniform who had fed 
him and his wife and children and left 
them money behind to make a fresh 
start. Fortunately, however, Schreed had 
lingered behind, making a vain attempt 
to converse with the chauffeur, and Cray 
had time, in a few rapid sentences, to put 
a certain matter before his friend Pierre. 
So that when Schreed returned and took his 
seat by Cray's side before the marble table 
in the village street, Pierre was able to serve 
them with liqueurs and speak as though to 
strangers. Mr. Cray conversed with him for 
some time. 

• 4 Well, what does he say ? " Schreed asked 
eagerly, when he had gone in. 

" There was only one grocer's shop in the 
village at the time we were in occupation," 
Mr. Cray explained, " and the majority of 
the stores presented by the Americans were 
handed over to him for distribution. There's 
the store, plumb opposite — Henri Lalarge. 

by Google 

" That mean ' Grocer' ? " Otto Schreed 

" Some of it does. Let's be getting 

Mr. Cray led the way across the cobbled 
street. M. Lalarge was short, fat, and black- 
whiskered. As they entered his shop the 
landlord from the estaminet opposite issued 
from the back quarters. 

4i What's he been doing over here ? " 
Schreed demanded, suspiciously. 

Mr. Cray shrugged his shoulders. 

" I suppose these fellows all live on one 
another's doorsteps," he observed. 

The result of the landlord's visit, however, 
was that, although the tears of welcome 
glistened in the eyes of the warm-hearted 
M. Lalarge, he greeted the two. men as 
strangers. Mr. Cray, having satisfied him- 
self as to his companion's absolute ignorance 
of the language, talked fluently to the grocer 
in rapid French. Presently he appeared 
satisfied, and turned to Schreed. 

" He says he had fifty tins," he explained. 
" but they were distributed half an hour 
after he received them. The complaint was 
made from some of the villagers, and the un- 
opened tins were returned and burned. There 
is a chemist's shop at the farther end of the 
village, where it would be as well to make 
inquiries. The chauffeur might take you 
there and I will explain to him what you 
want to ask for. Meanwhile, I will see the 
cure. 91 

Mr. Schreed saw nothing to object to in 
the arrangement, and drove off with the 
chauffeur. M. Lalarge, with the tears 
streaming down his cheeks, threw his arms 
round Mr. Cray and kissed him. 

" Heaven has brought you back ! " he ex- 
claimed. " Our deliverer— our Saint ! But 
how thin — how wasted ! " 

" Simply a matter of clothes, Henri my 
boy," Cray assured him. " Uncle Sam used 
to pinch us a bit tight about the loins. And 
now how goes it, eh ? " 

41 Thanks to the benevolence of monsieur, 
everything prospers," M. Lalarge declared. 
" His little loan — but give me time to write 
the cheque — it can be paid this moment." 

" Not on your life ! " Mr. Cray replied, 
vigorously. " Not a franc, Henri. " We both 
did good work, eh, when those guns were 
thundering, and dirty Fritz was skulking 
behind the hills there ? Finished, Henri. I 
am a rich man, and what you call a loan wa> 
my little thank-offering. " We did our best 
together for the poor people, you know." 

" But, monsieur " the little grocer 


" About those tins," Mr. Cray interrupted. 
" You have two ? " 

" I kept them, monsieur," the man ex- 
plained, 4< because I read in the paper that 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 



some day inquiry might be held into 
aU these matters." 

" And an inquiry is going to be 
held/ J Mr. Cray declared. +1 What 
you have to do, Henri, is to pack 
those two tins securely and send 
them to me by registered prist to the 
Ritz Hotel, Fkris/' 

" It shall be done, Dion 

" Were there any 
died after eating 
stuff ? M Mr. Cray 

11 Two/' the little grocer 
answered. " They are 
buried in the civic ceme- 
tery. One has 
talked but little 
of these things. 
The Americans 
came as saviours, 
and this was an 

Cray glanced 
down the street* 
His companion 
was still in- 
terviewing the 

"One petit v&tre, 
Henri/' he said, 
"for the sake of 
old times." 

M. L a 1 a r g e 
threw aside his 

"And to drink 
to the great good- 
ness of monsieur, " 

*' M. Lalarge threw 

Mr. Otto Schreed 
was in high good -humour that evening, on 
the way hack to Paris, He insisted upon 
paying for a little dinner at the Am has 
sador's and a box at the Folies Bergeres. 
He spent money freely, for him, and drank 
far more wine than usual. As he drank he 

" It is like a nightmare passed away/' he 
confided to his companion. " I know now 
that no one else in the world wall ever suffer 
because of that terrible mistake. There is 
not a single tin of the condemned beef in 

-- A load off your mind, eh ? " Mr. Cray 

Mr. Schreed smiled a peculiar smile, 

" For more reasons than you know of, my 
friend/' he confided, " Now my little trip 
to Holland, and after that I am a free man/' 

" When are you off there ? "his companion 

is arms roun 

Cray and kissed him." 

by Google 

11 The day after to-morrow— Thursday. fi 
was the prompt reply, M And, Cray " 

" Something bothering you ? " the latter 
remarked, as Schreed hesitated. 

" Just this, old fellow. My little trip to 
Holland is unimportant in its way, and in 
another sense it's a trip I want to do alone. 
Do you get me? " 

" Sure ! M Mr t Cray replied, fJ I am no 
butter-in- There are some of the boys in this 
gay little burg 1 haven't had time to look up 
yet. When shall you be back ? " 

u Monday/' was the eager reply — " Mon- 
day, sure- I'll go alone then, Cray. I guess 
it would be better. But look here. Get 
together a few of your friends, and we'll have 
a little dinner the night of my return, At 
my expense, you understand. You've been 
very useful to me over here, and I should like 
to make you a little return, Ask anyone 
you please, and take a couple of boxes for 



Mr. Cray's Adventures 

any show you fancy. It isn't the way I live 
as a rule, but I've a fancy for making a 
celebration of it." 

" That's easy," Mr. Cray declared. " It 
shall be some celebration, I can tell you. 
We'll dine in the hotel here, and I promise 
there shall be one or two people you'll be 
interested to meet.". 

So on the Thursday morning Mr. Otto 
Schreed started for Holland, and Mr. Joseph 
P. Cray, with a brown-paper parcel under 
his arm, set out to pay a few calls in Paris. 

WHEN Mr. Otto Schreed made his 
punctual appearance in the hotel 
salon on Monday evening at a few 
minutes before eight he found Mr. Cray and 
three other guests awaiting him. Mr. Cray 
was busy mixing cocktails, so was unable 
to shake hands. He looked around and 

" Glad you're punctual, Schreed," he said. 
" Pleasant trip ? " 
• " Fine ! " 

" Business turn out all right ? " 

" Couldn't have been better. Won't you 
introduce me to these gentlemen, Cray ? " 

" Sure 1 " Mr. Cray replied. " Gentlemen, 
this is Mr. Otto Schreed of Chicago — Colonel 
Wiimot, of the American Intelligence Depart- 
ment, Mr. Neville, of the same service, and 
Dr. Lemarten." 

" Delighted to meet you all, gentlemen," 
Mr. Schreed declared. 

His outstretched hand was uselessly offered. 
Neville and Colonel Wiimot contented them- 
selves with a military salute. The French- 
man bowed. Mr. Schreed for the first 
moment was conscious of a vague feeling of 
uneasiness. He turned towards Cray, who 
was approaching with a little tray upon which 
were four cocktails. 

" Hope you've ordered a good dinner, 
Cray," he said, " and that these gentlemen 
are ready to do justice to it. Why, you're a 
cocktail short I " 

Colonel Wiimot, Mr. Neville, and Dr. 
Lemarten had each accepted a wineglass. 
Mr. Cray took the other one. 

" And, dash it all I the table's only laid 
for four 1 " Schreed continued, as he gazed 
with dismay at the empty silver tray. " Is 
this fe practical joke ? " 

Mr. Cray shook his head. 

" One of us," he confided, " is not having a 
cocktail. One of us is not dining. That one, 
Otto Schreed, is you." 

Schreed was suddenly pale. He backed a 
little towards the door, gripping the back of 
a chair with his hand. 

" Say, what the devil does this mean ? " 
he demanded. 

" You just stay where you are and you 
shall hear," Mr. Cray replied, setting down 

by Google 

his empty glass. " I worked put at that 
little village of Lutaples for the last year of 
the war — ran an American canteen there for 
the Y.M.C.A. I was there when your filthy 
beef was unloaded upon the boys. I saw 
their sufferings." 

" God ! " Schreed muttered beneath his 
.breath. " And you never told me ! " 

" I never told you," Cray assented. 
" although I came pretty near telling you 
with an end of my fist that day at the 
luncheon club. Glad I didn't, now. When 
I tumbled to it that you were scared about 
any more of those tins being in existence I 
began to guess how things were. I came 
over with you to be sure you didn't get them. 
I got two tins from M. Lalarge, and a 
nice tale he had to tell me about the rest. 
Dr. Lemarten here analysed them and pre- 
pared a report. He's here to tell you about 

" The beef was poisoned," the Frenchman 
said, calmly. " My report has been handed 
to Colonel Wiimot." • 

•' It's a lie ! " Schreed declared, trembling. 
" Besides, this matter has been dealt with. 
1 have paid my fine. It is finished." 

•J>Not on your life," Mr. Cray replied. 
" Ten thousand tins of your bully beef, Otto 
Schreed, contained poison. No wonder you 
were glad to get out of it, as you thought, 
with a fine. Now we'll move on a step. 
You've just come back from Holland. You 
may not have known it, but Mr. Neville her^, 
of the American Intelligence Department, 
was your fellow-passenger. You cashed five 
drafts at the Amsterdam Bank, Amounting 
in all to something like five hundred thou* 
sand dollars of American money. Half of 
that went to your credit in London, the 
other half you've got with you. Blood- 
money, Otto Schreed — foul, stinking blood- 
money I " 

Schreed was on the point of collapse. 

,l You have employed spies to dog me ? " 
he shouted. 

*"' We don't call the officers of the American 
Intelligence Department spies," Mr. Cray 
observed, coldlv. 

" Otto Schreed," Colonel Wiimot said. 
speaking for the first time, " I have a war- 
rant for your arrest, and an extradition 
warrant from the French Government. You 
will leave for Cherbourg to-night and be taken 
back to New York." 

" On what charge ? " Schreed faltered* 

" Political conspiracy — perhaps murder." 

Colonel Wiimot walked to the door and 
called in two men who were waiting outside. 
Schreed collapsed. 

" I've two hundred and fifty thousand 
dollars here," he shrieked. " Can't we 
arrange this ? Cray ! Colonel Wiimot I " 

The two men were obliged to drag him out. 

V-m I Q I n d I rrom 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 


4 Schreed was on the point of collapse. ' You have employed spies to dog me ? * he shouted/' 

Mr, Cray moved to the window and threw it the United States Government, and we're 

open, anxious to drink your health," 

" What we want," he said, " is fresh air/* Two waiters, followed by a mattre d'fiokt, 

Colonel Wilmot smiled. were already in the room. The latter came 

u He was a poisonous beast, Cray/* he said, forward and bowed, 

** but youVe done a fine stroke of business for " Monsieur est sent/' he announced. 

[A notfier story in this series will appear next month.) 


Q^TWirvg \fose 

JULIE AYLMER knelt on 
the window seat of the 
small sitting-room of a 
flat in Chelsea and looked 
out over the river with a very 
wistful expression in her sea-grey 

* It was a perfect July evening, 
fitting close to a glorious summer day. 
At this hour, in a hundred shady lanes, 
knee-deep in ferns, happy lovers wandered 
hand-in-hand beneath the arching trees. 
On the river countless punts were moored 
in dusky back-waters, and by the silver 
sea, which all day long had flashed in 
sapphire gaiety beneath the sun, men and 
women walked gratefully, drinking in the 
salt freshness which was so unlike the 
dusty, gritty heat of the city on a day such 
as this had been. 

But up here in the Chelsea flat the air was 
close and stale in spite of widely-opened 
windows ; and Julie's cheeks were very pale 
as she knelt and gazed out into the evening 

No one, not even Leonard, knew how she 
hated summer in London, how her whole 
being cried out for the dewy freshness of the 
cool green country, the invigorating tang of 
the tonic sea-air. She was a country girl, 
born and bred, and although she would not 
have exchanged her lot, as Leonard's wife, 
for that of any other woman in the world, 
she did sometimes wish — and felt herself a 
traitor in the wishing — that Len's calling had 
been one easy to follow in some quiet country 

But Len was an artist ; and everyone 
knows that for an artist — especially a strug- 
gling one — London is the only possible 
milieu ; and so Julie hid her distaste for the 
city and struggled bravely on in the little 
flat which sometimes seemed to her to be a 
veritable cage. 

This summer, too, bad luck had dogged 
their footsteps. At Whitsuntide Len had 
fallen ill. A chill, caught on a river excur- 
sion, had developed into pneumonia ; and 
for many days Julie had known the pinch of 
a real and woeful suspense, which had given 
way, finally, to a less violent but still poignant 

anxiety. For long Leonard 
had been * unable to handle 
a brush ; and several com- 
missions, small enough, yet 
financially important to the 
youthful pair, had been perforce 
unfulfilled. Also, Aylmer's appoint- 
ment as second master at a neigh- 
bouring Art School had been temporarily 
tilled during his illness ; and although the 
post was to revert to him next session, for 
the moment it and the emolument there- 
from were in the possession of the scarcely 
less needy student who had deputized for 
him during the weeks of his absence. 

Altogether the Aylmer finances were at 5 & 
low ebb ; and there was some excuse for 
Julie's wistful eyes and drooping lips as she 
gazed out into the sunlight, which could be 
at one and the same time a delight and .a 
tantalizing torment. 

If only there were some means of escape— 
for a fortnight, a week ! If only the long- 
promised holiday had been feasible after all, 
and had not receded, a mere phantom, into 
the background of their hard-working lives ! 
But when at last the expenses of Len's illness 
had been met there was no margin for 
luxuries like travel ; and consequently there 
could be no holiday for the Aylmers this year. 

As she faced the fact for the fiftieth time 
Julie's grey eyes filled with tears and she 
gave a little sob which sounded oddly child- 
ish in the silent room. But even before the 
tears had found time to roll down her cheeks 
they were arrested in their flow and the 
drooping figure straightened itself proudly ; 
for Julie's ears had caught the sound of her 
husband's key in the latch, and tears held no 
place in her scheme of things where Leonard 
was concerned. 

She ran lightly across the room and met 
him in the hall ; and Leonard's haggard 
young face brightened as he took her in his 
arms and kissed her hungrily. 

Still -entwined, they entered the little 
sitting-room ; and Julie's eyes eagerly sought 
her husband's, as though she would fain read 
therein the result of his day's quest—so often 
futile ! — after success. 

He had been to one or two picture dealers 


Kathtyn Rhodes 


' I've been figuring out how much a holiday would cost us. If only we could manage it I " 

n (~* f\f\Ci\ "• Original from 




The Ming Vase 

to inquire after work of his left there ; but 
one glance was enough to show Julie that 
so far nothing had been sold ; and it was 
evident that nothing else had happened 
which could be taken to presage good fortune 
in the near future. 

Yet one picture, at least, had been prac- 
tically sold. 

He was telling her about it now, in quick, 
jerky sentences. 

" You know the picture of the Doone 
Valley — the" one we * liked so much ? Old 
Rawlins, the soap-man, was after it, and 
Jacks, the dealer, said he'd give a good price. 
Well, to-day he went in again and measured 
it — think of it, Ju ! — and because it was a 
couple of inches too small to fill a space on 
his wall he turned it down ! " 

" Oh, Len ! " In spite of herself Julie's 
voice was tragic. 

" Yes ; and the other three — well, no one 
wants 'em just now." He tried to speak 
cheerily. " You see, so many people are out 
of town, and— well, all the dealers say it is 
hopeless expecting to sell them at this time 
of the year. In the autumn, when people 
come back to town " — he spoke optimistic- 
ally — " theris the time to sell pictures. And 
I've had a promise of some pupils "next term, 
at good fees. Oh, if we can struggle on till 
the autumn we'll do fine again." 

" J3ut, Len, it means no holiday — and you 
know you ought to go away after your 

She regretted her speech when she heard 
him sigh, saw the pallor of his thin young face, 
and she tried to cover up her rash words by 
bustling about, hastening their simple supper 
so that he might at least be fed after his day's 
fruitless toil. 

But after supper, when she returned from 
putting away the last plate, she found him 
poring over a paper at the table ; and, ap- 
proaching softly, found he had written down 
some figures whose significance she under- 
stood all too. well. 

"" Look, Ju." He drew her down on to the 
arm of his chair. " I've been figuring out 
how much a holiday would cost us, down at 
that delightful farmhouse by the sea where 
we spent our honeymoon. If only — if only 
we could manage it ! But I'm afraid it's 
impossible ! " 

She read the figures over his shoulder : — 

" 'Fares, two pounds each.' " (This was 
in pre-war days.) " ' Board and lodging, two 
guineas each for a fortnight.' That's just 
over eight pounds, isn't it ? " 

" Yes — and incidental expenses would 
bring it up to ten pounds. No, darling, I'm 
afraid it's quite impossible." 

" Yes," she assented heroically. " We can 
just manage, as we are, until next term — 
especially if I get paid for mv needlework." 


Julie sewed exquisitely, and now and then 
earned a pound or two by her work. " But 
I'm afraid we can't raise ten pounds for a 
holiday. Never mind ! " She laid her check 
caressingly against his. " We've got each 
other — and the flat — and we can take bus- 
rides into the country' for a treat now and 

MUCH later that night Julie rose softly 
from her bed and crept on bare feet 
into the little sitting-room, a new and 
excited light in her grey eyes. 

Lying awake beside the sleeping Len, for 
hours she had been cudgelling her brains to 
find a way of bringing the longed-for holiday 
within the bounds of possibility. In turn 
she had gone over all the old schemes — 
letting the flat, herself taking a situation 
as caretaker somewhere while Len went off 
alone in seargh of health and strength, appeal- 
ing to this or that impecunious relative — and 
in the end each alternative had been perforce 
discarded as useless. Then, idly, she had 
begun to catalogue their possessions, wonder- 
ing if any of the artistic, but probably value- 
less, furniture of the flat could be dispensed 
with, turned into the cash which would be 
of so much more use just now. 

But there was nothing at all suitable for 
her purpose. She fhad no jewellery Len 
nothing valuable save his paints and other 
properties which must not be tampered 

Stay ! She had forgotten one thing — the 
Ming Vase. 

It was the thought of this which had driven 
her from her bed, which led her, having first 
closed the door, to turn on the light and look 
round for the thing she sought. And there, 
in the place of Jionour on the top of the book- 
shelf, was the Ming Vase, her sole possession 
of any value, a relic from the days when her 
father's father had been a physician in China. 

He had had many valuable possessions, 
handed down in turn to her father ; but 
during the Boxer rising of 1900 the second 
Dr. Lucas had been forced to fly, with all his 
household, leaving their goods behind ; and 
this vase was the only relic he had been able 
to salve from the disaster. 

Julie herself did not know the exact value 
of the vase, nor its history. There had been 
a sort of legend in the family that it was of 
great antiquity and value, and it was gener- 
ally supposed to have formed part of the 
booty looted from the summer palace of 
some emperor of a bygone dynasty ; but Dr. 
Lucas himself did not know its story, and it 
had come to be known, laughingly, in the 
family as the ' Ming Vase." 

When her parents died the vase passed to 
Julie, who from a child had loved its beauti- 
ful shape and the wonderful colouring of its 


Kathlyn Rhodes 


decoration ; but its possible use as a money- 
bringer had never struck her until this night, 
when all .the happiness of her existence 
seemed to be threatened by the non-appear- 
ance of the ten pounds which meant so much 
to her. 

Now, however, it acquired a new and 
definite importance in her eyes. What if it 
were really valuable — really capable of bring- 
ing gold to her coffers ? In other words, 
what if she could sell it to advantage ? True, 
it would mean a serious, an almost tragic 
wrench, for all the romance of her youth had 
been bound up in the legends which sur- 
rounded the lovely thing — yet in a crisis like 
this there was no time for sentiment ; and 
if the vase meant money, then it must be sold. 

Taking it down from the shelf, she turned 
it tenderly about in her hands, noting with a 
pang at her heart each well-remembered 
figure, each delicate, distinctive colour — blue, 
green, a faint delicious pink. The porcelain 
itself was so fine, the shape so symmetrical, 
while at the same time so definitely Asiatic ; 
and the whole vase was so evidently the work 
of a craftsman who had gloried in his task, 
that for a moment Julie felt she could not 
bear to part with the adored thing. 

Yet if indeed it could be turned into money 
— why, then she must not hesitate. What 
its actual value might be she had no idea ; 
but in any case it should be offered for sale 
before many hours had passed. And by 
fortunate chance she knew where to offer it ; 
for more than once in former days she had 
accompanied a rich school-friend to a dealer 
in antiques who had a delightful shop not 
very far from her own flat ; and she had 
heard her friend's father testify to the busi- 
ness acumen and strict honesty which 
characterized the place ; so that she felt 
pretty well assured that she and her vase 
would be safe in the hands of Mr. Goodwin. 

But Leonard must know notliing of the 
transaction beforehand, lest he should forbid 
what he would guess to be a sacrifice. And, 
with a last look at her treasure, Julie replaced 
it carefully on the shelf and crept back, 
shivering with cold and excitement, to the 
bed where her husband slept, his boyish face 
so wan and pale in his slumber that her heart 
contracted within her as she gazed upon him. 



• O you believe this vase to be of value, 
miss — er — madam ? " The speaker, a 
clever-looking man in the early thirties, 
turned the porcelain vase about in his hands 
with an expression of interest in his face. 

" Yes. It belonged to my grandfather, 
who was a doctor in China. And I have 
always understood that it was valuable." 
Julie spoke quietly. 

" Do you know anything of its history — 
its date ? " 

Vol. IxL-K). 

We have always called it the ' Ming 
Vase.' " She smiled rather timidly. 

" You mean it's a relic of the Ming 
dynasty ? " His answering smile was re- 
assuring. " Well, it's possible enough. Por- 
celain was known in China long before that 
time — thirteen hundred and something, 
wasn't it ? And if this should be genuine " 

" But is there any doubt ? " Her tone 
was startled. 

" Well, there's always an element of doubt 
in these things." 

" But it came from China." 

" Quite so." His manner suddenly became 
businesslike. " Well, madam, if you'll allow 
me to take the vase away for a few minutes 
I will ask our expert's opinion as to its value. 
Meanwhile, please sit down — or look around 
you, which you prefer." 

With cold hands and quickly-beating heart 
Julie wandered round the place, viewing with 
unseeing eyes the treasures of furniture and 
china by which she was surrounded. So 
much depended on the expert's decision — 
so much more, probably, than he realized. 
It had been a wrench to bring the vase 
here at all, for it was her only relic of 
an adored father. But if its loss were 
to bring health and a measure of pros- 
perity to her beloved she would* never regret 
its absence. 

Five minutes passed — ten, a quarter of an 
hour. Then Mr. Goodwin, bearing the vase, 
returned ; but in his face was an unmis- 
takable look of disappointment. 

" You don't want-it ? It isn't genuine ? " 
She heard herself speaking, dully. 

" Well, it's Chinese all right/' His manner 
was very kind. " But our expert says it is 
quite certainly a modern reproduction of an 
older vase. He points out that the glaze is 
not the really genuine old glaze, and the 
arrangement of the figures, he says, differs 
slightly from the recognized old forms." He 
glanced at her face and went on hurriedly : 
" But it is very beautiful in itself, and had it 
been genuine it would have been worth a large 

sum. As it is " He broke off suddenly, 

for, to his horror, the girl's eyes had filled 
with tears. 

" It's all right." She spoke heroically, 
ignoring the brimming teardrops. " I — I'm 
not disappointed, really. I hardly expected 
to get any money for it ; but I wanted it so 
badly for a holiday, that I had to try." 

" One moment." He disregarded the hand 
she held out for the vase. " Look here, I 
can't help seeing this is a bit of a facer for you. 
Well, if you like to take the vase to some 
other firm, of course you can easily do so, 
though our expert is supposed to be about 
the best man in the trade where Chinese 
porcelain is concerned. But — it's a pretty 
thing, as I said before, and if you like to let 

University of MkHigan 


The Ming Vase 

us buy it for, say, ten or twelve pounds, we 
will do so with pleasure." 

He paused, then added, hastily : — 
" It's really quite a good bargain for us — 
someone will no doubt buy it some day, just 
for its appearance, you know." 

Instantly the April sunshine flashed into 
the girl's face, drying her tears. She had 
relinquished the first wild idea of obtaining 
hundreds of pounds for the vase with perfect 
calm; yet the bare idea of having ten or 
twelve pounds for the longed-for holiday sent 
her spirits soaring sky-high. 

* \'\ Twelve pounds ! "- She clasped her hands 
ecstatically. " Oh, yes, of course I'd love to 
have it ! If you only knew — that's just 
what I wanted for our holiday ! " 

. //That so?" He laughed pleasantly, 
wondering what the expert who had ap- 
praised the value of the vase at two pounds 
would think of the deal. " Well, we'll settle 
:it . right away. Here " — he unlocked a 
-drawer beside him — " I'll give you the 
money at once, shall I ? And if you'll 
sign the receipt I needn't trouble you anv 

FIVE minutes later Julie was hastening 
homewards with the precious money in 
her purse. And as she went she was 
concocting a story to tell her husband — for 
sh6 knew he would never have consented 
,to her sale of her treasure; and she fully 
intended he should enjoy his holiday with- 
out a thought of regret. Luckily for her, 
the midday post brought her a letter from 
•a woman for whom she had done some 
of her exquisite needlework ; and enclosed 
in the envelope was a postal order for 
a pound ; so that the story she presently 
told Len, of a substantial payment received 
unexpectedly, accounted for several of her 
precious pounds, while the rest she assured 
him had been saved out of her housekeeping 
money during the bygone weeks. 

" I wasn't going to tell you unless some- 
thing else turned up," she informed him 
happily. " Four or five pounds wasn't any 
good,, but now I've got the rest — a whole 
thirteen pounds, Len, think of it ! — we'll 
have a* holiday if we starve afterwards ! " 

" No prospect of starvation when once we 
get going again," said Len, gaily. " A week 

• or two by the sea, and you shall just see how 
I'll work this autumn ! " 

THE evening before they were to start on 
their journey Julie received a shock. 
Quite unexpectedly Leonard asked her 

e Ming Vase, darling ? Not 

trlet face turned 
" steadily. " But 

as we're going away I put it in the cupboard 
for safety." 

" Quite right." He spoke casually. ** I 
only wondered, because I heard rather a 
funny story about a Chinese vase to-day. 
Tanner took me to lunch at his club to-day 
— don't know how he dared, seeing what a 
scarecrow I am these days !— and young 
Goodwin, the antique dealer-man, was there. 
It seems some woman brought him in a vase 
which she said was a genuine old thing — 
sounded rather like ours — and asked him to 
buy it. When the expert saw it, however, 
he said it wasn't really old, just a copy, worth 
a couple of quid at the outside. But the girl 
seemed so sick about it — evidently wanted 
money so badly — that Goodwin said he hadn't 
the heart to tell her so, and he gave her 
several pounds for it — out of his own pocket, 
I gather. Oh, he wasn't boasting ; he was 
just saying that there was quite a lot of 
romance about an antique dealer's business, 
and he said quite openly that he sometimes 
got good things for a fraction of their value ; 
so no doubt he can afford to pay for fakes 

He rose from the table and threw away 
his cigarette. 

" Well, old girl, let's get on with the 
job. You look fearfully tired to-night — 
you sit and rest a little, and I'll finish the 

But Julie refused his offer quietly, and 
continued her preparations for the holiday 
which now seemed to her something shame- 
ful, a penance rather than a delight. 

For she never doubted that it was her va&e 
for which Mr. Goodwin had paid six times 
its price — out of charity, out of pity for her 
because she had looked so poverty-stricken, 
so desperately in need of his money. 

All her life Julie would remember that 
fortnight in Devonshire with feelings of 
shuddering distaste. 

The thought of the money which had paid 
for it poisoned every moment of the beautiful 
summer days. Even as she swam beside 
her husband through the clear sea-water, or 
sat with him on the green turf of the cliffs 
overlooking the expanse of vivid blue ocean 
many feet below, she remembered the moment 
when Mr. Goodwin, mockingly charitable, or 
so it seemed to her now, had handed her the 
money which had meant then so much to 
her. While Len ate and drank, sang and 
shouted and slept, beside himself with joy at 
this release from stuffy Chelsea to glorious 
Devonshire, she moved by his side as one in 
a dream. Although the hot sun coloured 
her fair skin, brought out the gleams in her 
honey-tinted hair, the light in her grey eyes, 
so that she looked a different being from the 
pale girl who had stifled in a London flat, she 
felt that it was in reality only the simulacrum 
U N I V trOl I T U r ft il L H IbA N 

Kathlyn Rhodes 


Well, madam, if you'll allow me to take the vase away (or a few minutes I will ask our 

expert's opinion as to its value.' * 

. .* (~* r\r\Ci\ i * Originalfrom 


i 4 4 

The Ming Vase 

of a woman who walked beside the handsome, 
glowing youth who was her husband. 

For Leonard knew nothing of the conflict 
which raged within her soul. To sell her 
precious vase had been bad enough, but to 
know that it had been practically valueless, 
that she owed its price to a kind-hearted 
stranger's generosity, stung Julie's soul to the 

On one thing only was she resolved — to 
buy back the vase ; or if that were not pos- 
sible, at least to pay the difference to the 
man who had bought it from her. She did 
not know how she was to save the sum out of 
her meagre allowance, without stinting her 
beloved Leonard ; yet she was resolved to do 
it ; and only then, so she told herself, would 
she feel able to look the world of men in the 
face — and to look her husband in the face. 
For — and here, perhaps, lay the sting of the 
whole — it was not she alone who had bene- 
fited by the man's kindness. It was as 
though some unseen hand had stabbed her 
husband in the back, as though his tem- 
porary inability to make good had given 
this meddling stranger the opportunity of 
entering, with his carelessly bestowed lar- 
gesse, into the lives of the two who 
were in reality nothing, less than nothing, 
to him. 

And until the money were paid back Julie 
knew that she would feel herself a traitor to 
her best- beloved, as though she were keep- 
ing him in the dark about vital matters 
which it was right he should know, so that 
he should not benefit blindly by the charity 
of another man. 

It was really better when they were back 
in town, when she could begin again to save 
and scrape, to hoard the few miserable coins, 
to sew herself nearly blind over the beautiful 
needlework which was, after all, not badly 
paid. . Luckily, Len was out nearly all day 
teaching, or working in a friend's studio, and 
she was able to stint herself in food and com- 
fort to her heart's content. Shilling by shil- 
ling she made up the sum — luckily there had 
been a little surplus left after their holiday 
had been paid for, and these few pounds, 
pressed on her by Len, made a fair nucleus 
for the whole ; and by dint of almost super- 
human efforts she had saved the required 
amount by the middle of October — though 
at what a cost to herself her pale cheeks, 
lack-lustre eyes, and thin figure showed only 
too plainly. 

ON a frosty autumn morning young Mr. 
Goodwin was informed that a lady 
wished to see him respecting a cer- 
tain Mirig Vase sold to him some months 

Young Mr. Goodwin was reading his paper 
very comfortably over a fragrant cigar ; but 

he flung down the sheet impatiently at the 

" The Ming Vase ! Not the same lady, 
Jones ? By Jove, here's luck ! Of course 
I'll see her — at once. Better bring her in 
here, and look sharp about it, too." 

A moment later Julie entered the private 
office ; and as he rose to greet her Mr. Good- 
win looked at her sharply, wondering 
whether this pale, hollow-cheeked girl were 
indeed the one from whom he had purchased 
the Ming Vase earlier in the year. 

But when she spoke he doubted her 
identity no longer. 

" Mr. Goodwin, I have brought you back 
the money you paid for the Chinese vase." 
She was holding out a little package as she 
spoke the words. " I learned, later, that 
the vase was valueless, and that you — you 
had given me the money out of — of kindness. 
I spent it — I had to — but I'd like, please, to 
give you this. There is only ten pounds, so 
I can't get back the vase — but you said it 
was worth two pounds, and I'll feel better if 
you will kindly take the money." Her voice 
faltered a little in the end. 

Inwardly Mr. Goodwin was wondering how 
on earth she had learnt of his indiscreet con- 
fidences at his club ; but outwardly he was 
strangely jubilant. 

" My dear lady — may I ask your name ? I 
couldn't read it on the receipt, unfortunately ! 
— Mrs. Aylmer ? Well, Mrs. Aylmer, I can't 
tell you how glad I am you have called. 
I've a strange story to tell you about the 
vase ; but first, won't you sit down ? You 
look pale." 

She did not accept the invitation, standing 
in front of him with her eyes fixed on his 
face ; and he had perforce to stand to finish 
his tale. 

" As you know, the expert we employed 
said your vase was a modern imitation, and 
therefore of small value. Well — he lied." 
For a moment his face was grim. '• It seems 
that he had seen at once that it was a genuine 
piece of work of the earlier Ming dynasty ; 
and being himself an ardent collector he 
made an infamous resolve to belittle its 
value to me with a design of purchasing it 
himself later at a merely nominal sum. To 
that end he advised me to offer you a couple 
of pounds for it on account of its shape and 
colour. Well, as you know, I made you a 
slightly larger offer " — for the first time for 
years Mr. Goodwin found himself blushing— 
" and I put the vase aside, thinking no more 
of the matter for some time." 

" But he — your expert ? " In spite of 
herself the girl was thrilled. 

" He craftily decided to leave the thing 
alone for a few weeks, lest his undue eagerness 
to purchase should give him away, so to 
speak ; and h^ went oil for his holiday quite 


Kathlyn Rhodes 


happy in his mind about the vase. But 
while he was away " — Mr, Goodwin spoke 
impressively — " by a strange coincidence the 
one man in England who knows more about 
Chinese porcelain than even our expert came 
into the place one day, just as I was looking 
casually at, your vase. Well, to cut a long 
story short, this man. Lord Sowerby, who 
has lived many years in China, recognized 
the vase as one formerly well known to 
collectors as an almost perfect specimen of 
its period ; and without waiting to hear its 
history he offered, then and there, to purchase 
it from me for a sum of two thousand pounds/* 

M Two thousand pounds ? " 
h Yes. On hearing the story he instantly 
guessed the expert's game — which, by the 
way, the man owned up to, later — and he 
also insisted that you, as the original owner, 
should be informed of the discovery. Natur- 
ally " — Mr. Goodwin smiled — " I wouldn't 
have taken advantage of your ignorance on 
the subject to do you out of the vase — and 
the money ! And I was only too anxious 
to apprise you of your good fortune. But " 
— he shrugged his shoulders — " well, I had 
been unbusiness-like enough to omit to 
ask for your address ; and owing to the haste 
with which you had signed the receipt M — 
Julie blushed at the recollection of her own 
anxiety to clinch the matter — " it was quite 
impossible to make out your name. So 
beyond dismissing the expert from the firm, 
we have so far done nothing, though the 
question of advertising for you had been 
mooted between us/* 

** You mean that it — the vase— is worth 
two thousand pounds ? *' Her voice came 
sobbingly through her pale lips, H1 But — in 
any case — it's yours now — you bought it. J ' 

H! My dear lady ! " Mr, Goodwin waved a 
deprecating hand, fl Do you think we are 
all as unscrupulous as the wretched man who 
deceived us as to the value of the vase ? Of 

course it is still your property, especially " — 
he smiled — " as you have apparently bought 
it back again ! Now, if you will al!ow r me to 
advise you, you will close with Lord Sowerby's 
offer. Of course you can have the vase 
valued elsewhere if you like ; but, really, I 
don't think you need doubt Lord Sowerby's 

" No/' she said, quietly, though an odd 
little smile touched the corner of her lips, 
** I don't think I need doubt anyone's 
honesty— not even my own 1 " 

THE Ming Vase occupies an honoured 
place in Lord Sowerby's cherished 
collection of Chinese porcelain ; and 
to his connoisseur friends he is never tired 
of telling the odd story of its purchase. 

The rising young painter, Leonard Ayhner, 
and his pretty young wife still live in Chelsea, 
though their flat is more comfortable and 
holidays are more frequent than of old. On 
the bookshelf in the sitting-room there is 
only one ornament, a quaint, goggle-eyed 
cat in coarse West of England pottery — a 
souvenir of a holiday in Devonshire which 
was, so Julie declares, the turning-point in 
their fortunes. 

Until the happy ending of the Ming Vase 
episode she had not the heart to look at the 
cat which Leonard had bought her on the 
last day of their stay in the village by 
the sea— for it reminded her of so much 
she would fain forget. 

But when the Ming Vase, duly paid for, 
had taken its place in Lord Sowerby's collec- 
tion, Juke took the queer pottery cat from 
the deep drawer to which she had consigned 
it, and placed it triumphantly on the vacant 
top of the bookshelf. 

For, as she said in eager justification of 
her action, " It's the only possible successor 
to the Ming Vase ! " And Leonard laughed 
and agreed with her. 

by Google 

Original from 


Great Golfers 



Study these Film Pictures 
and improve your game 



Illustrations from copyright films by permission of "Around the Town" 

WHEN' I grow rich I mean to have 
my own private cinematograph 
to depict me playing golf, My 
motive will nut be vanity, but 
a humble desire for improvement. I shall 
have my self *' filmed " when I am playing 
what I please to call well, and also when 1 
'am playing ill, for which there will be ample 
opportunity, I shall be taken with all my 
clubs in turn. Then whenever I am " off 
it " with any one of them — and to be off 
with at least one club is the golfer's normal 
condition — I shall compare the happy and 
unhappy pictures of myself, and try to draw 
from them an improving moral. 

t see at present no prospect of tliis indul- 
gence, but I am quite sure that it would 
Ixs an excellent plan for any ambitious and 
introspective golfer. We cannot see our- 
selves and our contortions. A looking-glass 
is of little use if only because, instead of 
looking at the ball, we liave to look at the 
glass, and this movement of the head com- 
pletely dislocates and alters the swing. It 
is extraordinarily difficult for any coach, 
however skilful, to describe to us in words 
our precise error. He may accomplish some- 
tlung by mimicry, but he cannot be so 
faithful a mimic as the cinematograph, nor 
can be made to go through his performance 
over and over again and at any desired pace. 
If we try to doctor our own gulfing ailment's 
our diagnosis is often ludicrously wrong* 
Sometimes we fancy the fault to be the very 
opposite of what it really iSj and so only 
plunge deeper and deeper. The cinemato- 
graph would not make this mistake, and it 
might often reveal to us the eluding secret 

of that dreadful tittle hitch in the swing 
that we feel but can never locate. It is so 
easy to know that we are moving our bodies 
too much : so hard to say at what point 
the wrong movement intrudes itself. 

I long since conceived this ambition for 
my own cinematograph, I feel it much more 
strongly now that I have studied the pictures 
by which this article is illustrated, and have 
also enjoyed a show of them in motion given 
for my especial benefit* This enjoyment is 
denied to the reader, but the series of pic- 
tures makes an excellent substitute, and has 
tins actual advantage, that he can take the 
stroke at any particular stage and study it 
minutely and as long as he likes. 

The pictures actually in motion I found 
entertaining as well as instructive, and when 
the movement was very slow indeed they 
were amusing in one respect that I had not 
anticipated. Shown at the usual speed, the 
player comes bustling up to liis ball, tees it, 
and takes his club from tiie caddie with a 
brisk and business-like air, At dead-slow 
speed, however (I do not know the technical 
terms), he is entirely changed. Now he 
comes prowling and creeping up to it. He 
is infinitely stealthy and slinking, and looks 
as if he were going to make a grab at it 
and then run away. Tills steal thiness was 
especially marked in the pictures in which 
Harry Yard on shows exactly how he grips 
his club. As his right hand comes slowly, 
slowly up to take Its place, it looks full of 
wickedness, as if it should be grasping a 
stiletto. When the picture of a putt is 
taken very slowly the ball slithers along the 
ground for &11 the world like a snaih The 


Bernard Darwin 










* 1 
\ 1 














7 e 9 

Abe Mitchell's drive shown in all its stages* 

It will be noticed that in picture No. 7, which shows Mitchell at the moment of hitting the ball, the dub 

has left no impression on the film- 

waggle at the same speed is extraordinarily slowly, was one of Satidy Herd driving, 
absurd. It so chanced that the first picture, That illustrious player is, as is well known, 
as to which I asked the operator to go very a man of manv and ferocious waggles : rapid 

*** o U N IV ERSrTY F Ml C H IG A N 


Great Golfers Reveal Their Methods 

Original from 
Horry Vardon's drive—' - beautifully compact and beaiilifufly hee" 

Bernard Darwin 


How Harry Varctan plays a mashie shot. 

arithmeticians have counted liim well into 
double figures, When they are taken not 
at the rate of a hunt but that of a funeral, 
one begins to doubt Whether Herd will ever 
really get to business, 

In choosing the best pictures — in each 
case from a very long roll — I have tried to 
illustrate certain phases of the stroke, which 
pass so quickly that in real life we cannot 
see them. For example t the first few inches 
of the upward swing, half-way down, and 
the actual moment of striking. There were 
many more pictures to choose from in the 
upward than in the downward swing. The 
club comes down so rapidly that in some 
cases I chose three consecutive pictures, and 

yet each showed a perfectly distinct stage. 
Perhaps this is a rather obvious remark; but 
it is worth emphasizing the fact that good 
players go up very much more slowly tlian 
they come down, Alas ! this is not so with 
all of us* We are apt to go up with so 
sharp a jerk that we have no pace left to 
come down with. 

The pictures of Abe Mitchell driving will 
probably be the most eagerly examined 
by the student of style* Not only is Mitchell 
one of the two outstanding golfers of the 
moment, and one of the two or three longest 
drivers in the world, but his is a style at 
once of glaring heterodoxy and fascinating 
mystery + Nobodv else can make the club 


The '*Vardon" grip, which is now the almost universal flrip of the professionals, anc 

ii used by many «fflf|^f Y QF u, CH | GAN 

1 5° 

Great Golfers Reveal Their Methods 

sing through the air like 
Mitchell. Nor, I think, is it 
fanciful to say that the crack 
of his club meeting the ball 
has a different note from that 
of all the other drivers. He 
makes his club travel at this 
desperate pace in a way all 
his own by nipping the club 
into his side and checking 
that follow through which we 
have all been brought up to 
regard as sacred, And he 
does these unorthodox things 
deliberately and unashamedly, 
and preaches the curtailment 
of the follow through. 

The first thing that strikes 
us in the picture of Mitchell 
about to start his swing is 
the pronounced arch of the 
left wrist. Other players 
have this characteristic to 
but none so markedly as he. 
analysis of his own methods 
store by it. Yet, as far as we can see, this 
arch very soon disappears in the taking 
back of the club. There is a splendid 
vigour about the top of the swing. The 
right elbow is noticeably free and clear of the 
body, though not of course lifted high in the 
air ( as the older authorities used to advocate. 
It is rather a long swing, as swings go nowa- 
days, for the club has been taken well past 
the horizontal, but there is certainly no 
appearance of a loss of control. Now let us 
look at the critical moment of the actual 
stroke. The feet are perfectly firm on the 
ground, and that is a point to be noticed in 
all the professionals' strokes, and to be 
taken to heart by amateurs. No man can 
hit hard and truly who is not firmJy balanced 
at the moment of striking. That which 
ri%ets our attention, however, is the move* 
ment of the right wrist. Clearly the club face 
must have been at right angles to the line of 

some extent, 
In his written 
he sets great 

shares with Abe Mtchell the distinction of 

exactly how he 

flight at the time of impact, but see how an 
almost inappreciable fraction of time after- 
wards the right wrist comes whipping over. 
It obscures the left wrist altogether, and the 
left arm seems never to go away from the 
left side. When we watch Mitchell in real 
life we sometimes imagine that the quickness 
of the movement has deceived us and that 
the arms and the club really go through 
farther than they appear to do. But the 
pictures show that this is not so. After that 
one tremendous flash of the wrists very little 
seems to happen* The whole attitude 
gradually eases up and becomes less taut, 
but the arms and club cling to the left side, 
the hands do not go round and over the 
left shoulder, or anything like it. It is a style 
of wonderful power and fascination, but it 
is not, I think, one for the ordinary mortal 
to copy unless he wishes to alternate between 
a smothered hook and a slice over cover- 
point's head. It is wisest to regard Mitchell 
as a genius and a law to himself. 

The other two driving pictures show th^ 


Bernard Darwin 

being one ot the longest drivers in the world 
plays the shot. 

two great Jersey golfers , Vardon and Ray. 
Vardon r s style has been photographed and 
picked to pieces many times, and is tolerably 
familiar to most golfers, It is at once beauti- 
fully compact and beautifully free. Twenty 
one years ago, in almost the first book in 
which analysis of golfing methods from photo- 
graphs was seriously attempted, Mr, Horace 
Hutchinson wrote this : " I should say that if 
a man knew his common error and besetting 
sin to be a too wild swinging with the arms 
without sufficient movement t>f the body, 
too much arm work and arm hitting, too 
little help from the body turn, an excellent 
remedy would be for him to study again 
and again, with purposes of some degree 
of imitation, the swing of Harry Vardon/* 
This remains to-day truly excellent advice, 
if a little hard to follow. It is something 
like that very familiar piece of encourage- 
ment, iJ Go in and win." Duncan, we 
know, remodelled his style when he first saw 
Vardon, and there are now a good many 
points of similarity between the two styles. 

here Is shown 

Mr + A. C. Lincoln, of Totte- 
ridge, a very fine golfer too 
little seen hi public nowa- 
days, has a good deal of his 
master's manner. But gener- 
ally speaking Vardon has re- 
mained unimitated because 
inimitable. Bits of his style 
may be reproduced, but the 
wonderful smoothness and 
rhythm which, so to speak, 
welds all the bits together, 
defeats the golfer who would 
" play the sedulous ape M to 
him. The pictures give a 
good* idea of that perfect 
smoothness and of the firm- 
ness of foot and economy 
of movement which help to 
produce it, Apart from the 
rhythmical whole, the one 
separate bit, as I have called 
it, that we can see, is the fact of the hands 
leading the way in the back swing. It is an 
accepted fact that Vardon does begin his 
swing in this way, though when he is actually 
playing it is very hard to see exactly what 
really happens, Here in the picture we 
distinctly see the hands leading, though very 
modestly and unobtrusively. Let the admir- 
ing imitator beware of exaggerating the 
movement, as he is almost sure to do. 

The pictures in which Vardon shows how 
he grips the dub have already been spoken 
of. The " Vardon grip 1 ' is now the almost 
universal grip of the professionals and 
is used by many amateurs. Everybody who 
tries it, however, does not get it quite right. 
These pictures show how perfectly in Vardon's 
case the hands fit into one another, I might 
almost say that he screws them one into the 
other, so that there is no cranny of inter- 
vening daylight nor any scope for loosening 
or slipping. 

Ray driving v^ rcateh from a different 

*^iii*tort^'ttte:ip are stantKng 


Great Golfers Reveal Their Methods 

A good putt by Herd shown in (our stages* 

more or less opposite the player. In Ray's 

case we are standing behind him. In the 
first of the series Ray is in the act of waggling, 
and I chose this one as showing a little point 
that is curious rather than positively in- 
structive. He seems to do quite different 
things when waggling the club than when 
he is beginning the actual swing. In the 
waggle the hands and arms are well out from 
the body, and the club face turned sharply 
away from the line. When he begins the 
swing, the face of the club is not so " open " \ 
the arms are kept well in and soon begin, if 
I may so express it, to climb round the body; 
We may see here, too, a suggestion, of the 
hands leading the way. Once the club is 
well on its road there is an impression of 
enormous power, which grows more and 
more marked to the end. The last of all, 
showing the finish of the follow through, is a 
very fine picture, and the complete turn of 
the body and feet towards the hole is worthy 
of the highest praise, Ray is not always 
quite so steady on his feet as are some others, 
and in certain moods he has an odd habit of 
moving his right foot forward and outward 
just after the ball is struck, as if he had 
toppled over ever so slightly under the force 
of his own blow. On this occasion, how' 
ever, his feet seem to have been on their 
very best behaviour. 

Vardon's mashie shot is as graceful and 
easy as is every other stroke that he plays 
(save only those wretched short putts on his 
bad days). The complete stability of his 
feet is particularly noticeable. Vardon is 
never a player who comes down very severely 
on the turf and sends a big divot hurtling 
through the air t to the sorrow of the green - 
keeper. He is too smooth for that. His 
club seems rather to pick the ball up and 
carry it aw f ay like a bird, and I think there is 
a suggestion of this in the photograph. 

THE pictures of Herd putting were 
rather difficult to choose, I despair* 
ingly unrolled a long coil of pictures, 
each of w T hich showed Herd and his club 
apparently in the same position- In fact* 
the only change visible in them is that 
in each successive one the ball " seems 
here some painful inch to gain/' and creeps 
nearer and ever nearer to the hole. But if 
not precisely exciting, this series has a 
distinct educational value as showing how 
intensely important it is in putting to keep 
the body still. To be sure, we all know that, 
but it cannot be rubbed into us too hard or 
too often. It is only when the ball is on the 
point of disappearing into the hole that 
Herd gives a tiny duck of his knees, as if to 
say i- Go in, you beast 1 " and then down go 
the knees still a little lower to say " That's 
that ! " I wish the artist could have caught 
Herd when he thinks that the ball is not 
quite going to reach the hole, for at such 
moments he urges it on with the most 
dramatic gesticulations and wavings of his 
club. And really I think the ball must be 
afraid of him, for it is wonderful how often 
it just reaches the hole at its very last gasp. 
Herd is a very good putter, who likes keen 
greens w r here he can coax the ball to trickle 
in ; the back of the tin and mere bludgeoning 
methods do not appeal to him. 

Here end the pictures, and I hope that 
many golfers may draw from them many 
useful morals. If I had to draw just one 
moral from them all, it should be the one 
that " I have already emphasised: "Stand 
still." It is a very old one, as old as golf 
itself, but none the worse for that. Keep 
everything as still as you can, more especially 
the head, for on that everything else to a 
large extent depends. There is, I think, no 
other point in which the professional so 
steadily excels the amateur. 

by Google 

Original from 



Ethel MDell 




THE two girls left the billiard -room, 
shepherded by Fletcher, almost 
before the tumult had subsided. 
It seemed to Dot that he was 
anxious about something and desirous to 
get them away. But Adela was full of 
excited comments and refused to be hurried, 
stopping outside to question Hill upon a 
dozen points regarding the game while he 
stood stiffly responding, waiting to say good 

Dot leaned upon the stair-rail, waiting for 
her, and eventually Fletcher drew Adela's 
attention to the fact. 

Adela laughed. " Oh, that's just her way, 
my dear Fletcher. Some women were born 
to wait. Dot does it better than anyone I 

It was at that moment that Warden came 
quietly up the passage from the billiard- 
room, moving with the lightness of well-knit 
muscles, and checked himself at sight of 

" I should like a word with you — when 
you have time," he said. 

Adela swooped upon him with effusion. 
44 Mr. Warden ! Your play is simply astound- 
ing. Allow me to congratulate you ! " 

" Please don't ! " said Warden. " I played 

She laughed at him archly. " That's just 
your modesty. You're plainly a champion. 
Now, when are you going to let Mr. Hill show 
us that wonderful mine ? We are "dying to 
see it, aren't we, Dot ? " 

" The mine ! " Warden turned sharply 

Copyright, 1921, 

to Hill. " You're not going to take anyone 
over that — surely ! Not in person — any- 
how ! What, sir ? " He looked hard at 
Hill, who said nothing. " Then you must 

'* He isn't obliged to go in person," 
smiled Adela. " I am sure you are big 
enough to take care of us single-handed. 
Dot and I are not in the least nervous. Will 
you take us alone if we promise not to tease 
the animals ? " 

Warden's eyes flashed a sudden glance 
upwards to the girl who still stood silently 
leaning upon the rail. It was almost like 
an appeal. 

As if involuntarily she spoke. " What is 
the danger ? " 

Hill turned to her. -< There is no danger," 
he said, curtly. " If you wish to go, I will 
take you to-morrow." 

Warden made a brief gesture as of one 
who submits to the inevitable, and turned 

Fletcher held out his hand to Adela with 
finality. " Good night," he said. 

" Are you really going to take us to- 
morrow ? " she said. 

44 Yes," said Fletcher. 

She beamed upon him. " What time 
shall we be ready ? " 

He did not refer to Dot. " At five o'clock," 
he said. " I shall be busy at the court all 
day. I will come and fetch you." 

He shook hands with Dot, and his face 
softened. " Good night," he said. " Go to 
bed quickly ! You're very tired." 

She gave him a fleeting smile, and turned 
to go. She was tired to the soul. 

Adela caught her by the arm as they 



Without Prejudice 

ascended the stairs. " You little quiet 
mouse, what's the matter ? Aren't you en- 
joying the adventure ? " 

Dot's face was sombre. " I think I am too 
tired to enjoy anything to-night," she said. 

11 Tired ! And no work to do ! Why, 
what has come to* you ? " Adela surveyed 
her with laughing criticism. 

44 Let's go to bed ! "said Dot. M I'll tell 
you when we get there." 

Something in tone or words stirred Adela. 
She refrained from further bantering and 
gave her mind to speedy preparations for 

Then, as at last they were about to 
separate, she put a warm arm about the girl 
and held her close. 4i What is it ? Aren't 
you happy ? " she said. 

A great sob went through Dot. Her 
trouble was more than she could bear. She 
clung to Adela with unaccustomed closeness. 
" I've promised to marry Fletcher at the 
end of the week — instead of going back with 
you to the farm." 

" I thought that was what he was after," 
said Adela. " But — don't you want to ? " 
" No," whispered Dot, trembling. 
" Well, why don't you tell him so — tell 
him he's got to wait ? Shall I tell him for 
you, you poor little thing ? " Adela's voice 
was full of compassion. 

But Dot was instant in her refusal. " No, 
oh, no ! Don't tell him ! I — I couldn't give 
him — any particular reason for waiting. I 
shall feel better — I'm sure I shall feel better 
— when it's over." 

" I expect you will," said Adela. " But 
I don't like you being miserable. I say, Dot 

" — she clasped the quivering form closer, 

with a sudden rare flash of intuition — " there 
isn't — anyone else you like better, is there ? " 
But at that Dot started as if she had been 
stung, and drew herself swiftly away. " Oh, 
no ! " she said, vehemently. " No — no — 

" Then I shouldn't worry," said Adela, 
sensibly. " It's nothing but nerves." 

She kissed her and went to her own room, 
where she speedily slept. But Dot lay wide- 
eyed, unresting, while the hours crawled by, 
seeing only the vivid blue eyes that had 
looked into hers, and thrilled her — and 
thrilled her with their magic. 

IN the morning she arose early, urged by 
a fevered restlessness that drove her with 

relentless force. Dressing, she discovered 
the loss of a little heart-shaped brooch, 
Jack's gift, which she always wore. 

Adela, still lying in bed, assured her that 
she had seen it in her dress the previous 
evening while at dinner. " It probably came 
out in that little conservatory place when 
Fletcher was embracing you," she said. 

" Not very likely, I think," said Dot, 

Nevertheless, since she valued it, she 
finished dressing in haste and departed to 
search for it. 

There was no one about with the exception 
of a man who was cleaning up the billiard- 
room and assured her that her property was 
not there. So she passed on along the 
passage to the shabby little glass-house 
whither she and Fletcher had retreated on 
the previous evening. 

She expected to find the place deserted, 
and was surprised by a whiff of tobacco- 
smoke as she entered. The next moment 
sharply she drew back ; for a man's figure 
rose up from the seat under the billiard-room 
window on which she had rested the previous 
evening. His great frame seemed to fill the 
place. Dot turned to flee. 

But on the instant he spoke, checking her. 
" Don't go for a moment ! I know what 
you're looking for. It's that little heart of 
yours. I've got it here." 

She paused almost in spite of herself. 
His voice was pitched very low. He spoke 
to her as if he were speaking to a frightened 
child. And he smiled at her with the words 
— a frank and kindly smile. 

11 You — you found it ! " she stammered. 
" Yes, I found it, Miss Burton." He 
lingered over the name half unconsciously, 
and a poignant stab of memory went through 
her. So had he uttered it on that day so 
long, so long ago ! "I knew it was yours. 
I was trying to bring myself to give it to 
Mr. Hill." 

,4 How did you know it was mine ? " She • 
almost whispered the words, yet she drew 
nearer to him, drawn irresistibly — drawn as 
a needle to the magnet. 

He answered her also under his breath. 
V I — remembered." 

She felt as if a wave of fire had swept over 
her. She swayed a little, throbbing from 
head to foot. 

" I have rather a good memory," he said, 
as she found no words. " You're not — 
vexed with me on that account, I hope ? " 

An odd touch of wistfulness in his voice 
brought her eyes up to his face. She fought 
for speech and answered him. 

" Of course not 1 Why should I ? It— is 
a very long time ago, isn't it ? " 

" Centuries," said Warden, and smiled 
again upon her reassuringly. " But I never 
forgot you and your little farm and the old 
dog. Have you still got him ? " 

She nodded, her eyes lowered, a choked 
feeling as of tears in her throat. 

"He'd remember me," said Warden, with 
confidence. " He was a friend. Do you 
know that was one of the most hairbreadth 
escapes of my liie ? II Fletcher Hill had 


Ethel M. Dell 


caught me, he wouldn't have shown much 
mercy — any more than he would now," he 
added, with a half-laugh. " He's a terrific 
man for justice." 

" Surely you're safe — now ! " Dot said, 

" If you don't give me away," said Warden. 

"I!" She started, almost winced. 
" There's no danger of that," she said, in a 
low voice. 

" Thank you," he said. " I've gone fairly 
straight ever since. It hasn't been a very 
paying game. I tried my luck in the West, 
but it was right out. So I thought I'd come 
back here, and that was the turning-point. 
They took me on at the Fortescue Mine. 
It's a fiendish place, but I rather like it. 
I'm sub-manager there at present — till 
Harley goes." 

" Ah ! " She looked up at him again. 
"■ He is a dangerous man. He hates vou, 
doesn't he ? " 

" Quite possibly," said Warden, with a 
smile. " That mine is rather an abode of 
hate all round. But we'll clean it out one 
of these days, and make a decent place of it." 

" I hope you will succeed," she said, very 

" Thank you," he said again. 

He was looking at her speculatively, as if 
there were something about her that he 
found hard to understand. Her agitation 
had subsided, leaving her with a piteous, 
forlorn look — the look of the wayfarer who 
is almost too tired to go any farther. 

There fell a brief silence between them, 
then with a little smile she spoke. 

" Are you going to give me back my 
brooch ? " 

He put his hand in his pocket, " I was 
nearly keeping it for good and all," he said, 
as he brought it out. 

She took it from him and pinned it in 
her dress without words. Then, shyly, she 
proffered her hand. " Thank you. Good- 
bye ! " 

He drew a short hard breath as he took it 
into his own. For a second or two he stood 
so, absolutely motionless, his great hand 
grasping hers. Then, very suddenly, he 
stooped to her, looking into her eyes. 

" Good-bye, little new chum ! " he said, 
softly. " It was — decent of you to treat me 
— without prejudice." 

The words pierced her. A great tremor 
went through her. For an instant the pain 
was almost intolerable. 

" Oh, spare me that ! " she said, quickly 
and passionately, and drew her hand away. 

The next moment she was running blindly 
through the passage, scarcely knowing which 
way she went, intent only upon escape. 

A man at the foot of the stairs stood aside 
for her, and she fled past him without a 

glance. He turned and watched her with 
keen, alert eyes till she was out of sight. 
Then, without haste, he took his way in the 
direction whence she had come. 

But he did not go beyond the threshold of 
the little dusty conservatory, for something 
he saw within made him draw swiftly back. 

When Fletcher Hill went to the court that 
day, he was grimmer, colder, more un- 
approachable even than was his wont. He 
had to deal with one or two minor cases from 
the gold mine, and the treatment he meted 
out was of as severe an order as circum- 
stances would permit. 



THE Fortescue Gold Mine was five 
miles away from Trelevan, in the 
heart of wild, barren country, 
through which the sound of its great crushing 
machines whirred perpetually like the droning 
of an immense beehive. 

The place was strewn with scattered huts 
belonging to such of the workers as did not 
live at Trelevan, and a yellow stream ran 
foaming through the valley, crossed here and 
there by primitive wooden bridges. 

The desolation of the whole scene, save 
for that running stream, produced the effect 
of a world burnt out. The hills of shale 
might have been vast heaps of ashes. It 
was a waste place of terrible unfruitfulness. 
And yet, not very far below the surface, the 
precious metal lay buried in the rock — the 
secret of the centuries which man at last had 
wrenched from its hiding-place. 

The story went that Fortescue, the owner 
of the mine, had made his discovery bv a 
mere accident in this place known as the 
Barren Valley, and had kept it to himself for 
years thereafter because he lacked the means 
to exploit it. But later he had returned with 
the necessary capital at his back, had staked 
his claim, and turned the place of desolation 
into an abode of roaring activity. The men 
he employed were for the most part drawn 
from the dregs — sheep-stealers, cattle-thieves, 
smugglers, many of them ex-convicts — a 
fierce, unruly lot, hating all law and order, 
yet submitting for the sake of that same 
precious yellow dust that they ground from 
the foundation stones of the world. 

Personally, Fortescue was known but to 
the very few, but his methods were known 
to all. He paid them generously, but he 
ruled them with a rigid discipline that knew 
no relaxation. It was murmured that 
Fletcher Hill — the hated police-magistrate 
— was at his back, for he never failed to \isit 
the mine when his duty took him in that 
direction, and there was something of 
military precision in iU management which 


Without Prejudice 

was strongly reminiscent of his forbidding 
personality. It was Fletcher Hill who 
meted out punishment to the transgressors 
who were brought before him at the police- 
court at Trelevan, and his treatment was 
usually swift and unsparing. No prisoner 
ever expected mercy from him. 

He was hated at the mine with a fierce 
hatred, in which Fortescue had but a very 
minor share. It was recognized that Fortes- 
cue's methods were of a decent order, though 
his lack of personal interest was resented, 
and also his friendship with Fletcher Hill, 
which some even declared to be a partner- 
ship. The only point in his favour was the 
fact that Bill Warden knew the man and 
never failed to stand up for him. For some 
reason Warden possessed an enormous in- 
fluence over the men. His elevation to the 
sub-managership had been highly popular, 
and his projected promotion to the post of 
manager, now filled by Harley, gave them 
immense satisfaction. He had the instincts 
of a sportsman and knew how to handle 
them, and a personality that was certainly 
magnetic did the rest. 

Harley had a certain following, but the 
general feeling towards him was one of 
contempt. Most men recognized that he 
was nothing but a self-seeker, and there were 
few who trusted him. He did his best to 
achieve popularity, but his efforts were too 
obvious. Bill Warden's breezy indifference 
held an infinitely greater appeal in the eyes 
of the crowd. 

Harley's resignation was of his own choos- 
ing. He declared himself in need of a rest, 
and no one attempted to persuade him 
otherwise. His day was over, and Warden's 
succession to the post seemed an inevitable 
sequence. As Hill sardonically remarked, 
there was no other competitor for the chief- 
tainship of that band of cutthroats. 

For some reason he had postponed his 
departure till after Hill's official visit to 
Trelevan. He .and Warden shared the 
largest house in the miners' colony in Barren 
Valley. It was close to the mine at the end 
of the valley, and part of it was used as the 
manager's office. It overlooked the yellow 
torrent and the black wall of mountain be- 
yond — a savage prospect that might have 
been hewn from the crater of a dead volcano. 

A rough track led to it, winding some 
twenty feet above the stream, and up this 
track Fletcher Hill drove the two visitors on 
the evening of the day succeeding their 
arrival at Trelevan. 

There was a deadness of atmosphere be- 
tween those rocky walls that struck chill 
even to Adela's inconsequent soul. " What 
a ghastly place ! " she commented. " I 
should think Ezelriel's valley of dry bones 
must have been something like this." . 

HARLEY met them at the door of his 
office with a smile in his crafty eyes. 
" Warden is waiting for you in the 
mine," he said to Fletcher. " His lambs 
have been a bit restless this afternoon. He 
has set his heart on a full-dress parade, but 
I don't know if it will come off." 

Fletcher's black brows drew together. 
" What do ybu mean by that ? " he de- 

Harley shrugged his shoulders with a 
laugh. " You wait and see ! " 

The entrance to the mine yawned like an 
immense cavern in the rock. The roaring 
screech of the machines issuing from it made 
an inferno of sound from which, involuntarily, 
Dot shrank. 

She looked at Hill appealingly as they 
drew near. He turned instantly to Harley. 

" Go ahead, will you, and tell them to 
stop work ? We can't hear ourselves speak 
in this." 

" I'll, come with you, Mr. Harley," said 
Adela, promptly. " I want to see the 
machines going." 

Harley paused for a moment. '• You 
know your way, Mr. Hill ? " he said. 

Hill nodded with a hint of impatience. 
" Yes, yes. I was here only the other day." 

" Very good," said Harley. " But don t 
forget to turn to the right when you get down 
the steps. The other way is too steep for 

He was gone with the words and Adela 
with him, openly delighted to have escaped 
from her solemn escort, and ready for any 
adventure that might present itself. 

Dot looked after her for a moment, and 
then back at Hill. " She'll be all right, 
won't she ? " she asked. 

" Of course she will ! " said Hill. 

'* Then shall we wait a minute till the noise 
stops ? " she suggested. 

Hill paused, though not very willingly. 
*' There is nothing to be nervous about," he 

She glanced at the cavernous opening with 
a little shudder. " I think it is a dreadful 
place," she said. 

She saw him faintly smile. " I thought 
it didn't appeal much to you," he said. 

She shivered. " Do you like it ? But of 
course you do. You are interested in it. 
Isn't that grinding noise terrible ? It makes 
me want to run away and hide." 

Hill drew her to a large flat rock on the 
edge of the path. " Sit down," he said. 

She did so, and he took up his stand beside 
her, one foot lodged upon the stone. In the 
silence that followed she was aware of his 
eyes upon her, intently watching her face. 
She gripped her hands hard around her 
knees, endurkig hfc> scrutiny with a fast- 
throbbing heart. She expected some curt; 

Ethel M, Dell 


*' Hill stayed her with a gesture. She saw something gleam in his hand as he did 
so, and realized that he was not defenceless/* 

soul-searching question at the end of it. 
But none came, Instead, the noise that 
reverberated through the valley suddenly 
ceased, and there fell an intense stillness. 

That racked her beyond bearing, She 
looked up at him at last with a desperate 
courage and met his eyes. " What is it*? " 
she questioned. '* Why do you — why do 
you look at me — like that ? " 

He made a brief gesture, as if refusing a 
challenge, and stood up. f+ Shall we go ? " 
he said. 

She got tip also, but her knees were trem- 
bling, and in a moment his hand came out 
and closed with that official grip upon her 
elbow. He led her to the mine entrance, 
guiding her over the rough ground in utter 

They left the daylight behind them, pass- 
ing almost immediately into semi-darkness. 
Some rough steps hewn in the rock led down 
into a black void before them, 

" Are there no lights anywhere ? " said 

" Yes, There'll be a lamp round the 
comer. Straight on down ! " said Fletcher. 

But for his presence she would hardly 
have dared it, so great was the horror that 
this place liad inspired within her, But to 
wait alone with him in that terrible empty 

Vol. bri. -II- 

vallev was even less endurable, She went 
down the long, steep stair without further 

They reached the foot at lengthy and a 
dim light shone ahead of them. The atmo- 
sphere was vault-like and penetratingly 
damp. The passage divided almost imme- 
diately, and a narrow- track led off between 
black walls of stone to the right, where in 
the distance another lamp shone. 

Fletcher turned towards this, but very 
suddenly Dot clasped his arm, ** Oh, don't 
let us go that way 1 JJ she begged. I( Please 
don't let us go that way ! " 

Hill paused in response to her urgent in- 
sistence. , M What's the matter with you, 
Dot ? " he said. 

She clung to him desperately, still holding 
liiin back, " I don't know — I don't know ! 
But don't go that way ! I have a horrible 
feeling Ah ! " 

The deafening report of a revolver-shot 
rang out suddenly close to them. 

Hill turned with a sound in his throat like 
the growl of an angry animal, and in a 
moment he had thrust Dot back against the 
protecting corner of the wall, 

11 You are not hurt ? " she gasped. 

" No : I am riot" His words fell clipped 
and ^ipjv^^^^^^^rcely above a 


Without Prejudice 

whisper. " Don't speak! Get back up the 
steps — as quickly as you can ! " 

The command was so definite, so peremp- 
tory, that she had no thought of disobeying. 
But as she moved there came to her the 
sound of running feet. Hill stayed her with 
a gesture. She saw something gleam in his 
hand as he did so, and realized that he was 
not defenceless. 

Her heart seemed to spring into her throat. 
She stood tense. 

Nearer came the feet and nearer. The 
suspense of waiting was torture. She thought 
it would never end. Then suddenly, just 
as she looked to see a man spring from the 
opening of that narrow passage, they stopped. 

A voice spoke. "All right I Don't shoot 1 " 
it said, and a great throb of amazement went 
through her. That voice — careless, debonair, 
half-laughing — awoke deep echoes in her 

A moment later Warden came calmly 
round the corner, his great figure looming 
gigantic in that confined space. 
. He held out his hand. "I'm sorry you've 
had a fright, I fired that shot. It was a 
signal to the men to line up for inspection." 

He spoke with, the utmost frankness, yet 
it came to Dot with an intuition she could 
not doubt that Hill did /lot believe him. 
He returned the revolver to his poCket, but 
he kept a hold upon it, and he made no move- 
. men t, to take the hand Warden offered. 

" We came to inspect the mine, not the 
men," hie said, shortly. " Go back and tell 
them to dear out ! " 

Dot, mutely watching, saw Warden's 
brows go up. He had barely glanced at her. 
" Oh, all right, sir," he said, easily. " They've 
hardly left off work yet. I'll let 'em know 
in good time. But first I've got something 
to show you. Come this way ! " 

He turned towards the main passage, but 
in a second, sharp and short, Fletcher's voice 
arrested him. 

" Warden ! " 

He swung on his heel. " Well, sir ? " 

" You will do as I said — immediately ! " 
The words might have been uttered by a 
machine, so precise, so cold, so metallic 
were they. 

Warden stood quite motionless, facing 
him, and it seemed to Dot that his eyes had 
become two blue flames, giving out light. 
The pause that followed was so instinct with 
conflict that she thought it must end in some 
terrible outburst of violence. 

Then, to her amazement, Warden smiled 
— his candid, pleasant smile. " Certainly, 
if you make a point of it," he said. " Per- 
haps you will walk up with me. The strong- 
room is on our way, and while you are look- 
ing at the latest specimens I will carry out 
your orders." 

HE turned back with the words, and 
led the way towards the distant 
lamp that glimmered in the wall. 

Stiffly Hill turned to the girl beside him. 
" Would you rather go back and wait lor 
me ? " he said. 

" Oh, no ! " she said, instantly. "No; I 
am coming too." 

He said no more, but grimly stalked in the 
wake of Warden. 

The latter moved quickly till he reached 
the place where the lamp was lodged in a 
niche in the wall. Here he stopped, stooped, 
and fitted a key into a narrow door that had 
been let into the stone. It opened outwards, 
and he drew aside, waiting for Hill. 

" I will go and dismiss the men," he said. 
u May I leave you in charge till I come back ? 
They will not come this way." 

Hill paused on the threshold. The lamp 
cast a dim light into the place, which was 
close and gloomy as a prison. 

" There are two steps down," said Warden. 
" One of them is badly broken," but it's 
worth your while to go in and have a look at 
our latest finds. You had better go first, sir. 
Be careful ! " 

He turned to depart with the words, still 
ignoring Dot. She was close to Hill, and 
something impelled her to lay a restraining 
hand on his shoulder as lie took the; first 
step down. 

•What followed happened with such stun- 
ning swiftness that her memory of it ever 
afterwards was a confused jumble of im- 
pressions, like the wild course of a nightmare. 

She heard Warden swing rotihd ag&in in 
his tracks, but before she could turn he had 
caught her and flung her backwards over 
his arm. With his other hand simultaneously 
he "dealt Hill a blow in the back that sent him 
blundering down into the darkness, and then, 
with lightning rapidity, he banged the door 
upon his captive. The lock sprang with the 
impact, but he was not content with this. 
Still holding her, he dragged at a rough handle 
above his head and by main strength forced 
down an iron shutter over the locked door. 

Then, breathing hard and speaking no 
word, he lifted her till she hung across his 
shoulder, and started to run. She had not 
uttered a sound, so stunned with amazement 
was she, so bereft of even the power to think. 
Her position was one of utter helplessness. 
He held her with one arm as easily as if she 
had been a baby. And she knew that in his 
free hand he carried his revolver. 

In her bewilderment she had not the 
faintest idea as to the direction he took. 
She only knew that he ran like a hunted rat 
down many passages, turning now this way. 
now that, till at last he plunged down an 
unseen stairway ai»<i the sound of gurgling 
water reached her ears. 

Ethel M. Dell 


He dealt Hill a blow in the back that sent him blundor-iu icwu unto the darkness." 



Without Prejudice 

He slackened his pace then, and at last 
stood still. He did not alter his hold upon 
her, however, but stood listening intently for 
many seconds. She hung impotent across his 
shoulder, feeling still too paralysed to move. 

He turned his head at last and spoke to 
her. " Have I terrified the senses out of 
you, little new chum ? " he whispered, softly. 

That awoke her from her passivity. She 
made her first effort for freedom. 

He drew her down into his arms and held 
her close. 

- " Right down," she said, insistently. 

But he held her still. " If I let you go. 
you'll wander maybe, and get lost," he said. 

His action surprised her, but yet that 
instinctive trust with which he had inspired 
her, long ago remained, refusing to be shaken. 

*"5Jut me right down ! " she said again. 
" And tell me why you did it ! " 
. He set her;qn her feet, but he still held her. 
•" Can't you,guess ? " he said. 

" No 1" she said. "No!" 

She spoke a little wildly. Was it the first 
'doubt that ran shadow-like across her brain, 
leaving her so strangely cold ? She wished 
dt had not been so dark, that she might see 
his face. " Tell me ! " she said again. 

But he did not tell her. " Don't be 
afraid ! " was all he said in answer. " You 
*are — sale enough." -. ■ ; 

• " But — but— rFletcher ? " she questioned, - 
4esperately. " What of him ? " 

• " He's safe too — for the present." There 
t wa» something of grimness in his reply. 
"He doesn't matter so much. He's been 
asking for trouble all along — but he had. no 
light — no right whatever — to bring you into 
it. It's -you that matters." 

. A curious, vibrant quality had crept into 
his voice, and an answering tremor went 
through her ; but she controlled it swiftly. 
•-"And Adela," she said. " She was with 
Mr. Harley. What has become of her ? " 

" He will take care of her for his own sake. 
Leave her to him!" Warden spoke with a 
hint of disdain. " She'll get nothing worse 
t^an a fright," he said, " possibly not even 
that — if he gets her to the manager's house 
in time." 

" In time ! " she echoed. " In time for 
what ? What is going to happen ? What do 
you mean'? " 

- His hold tightened upon her. " Well," he 
said, " there's going to be a row. But I'm 
boss of this show, and I reckon I can deal 
with it. Only — I'll have you safe first, 
little new chum. I'm not tailing any chances 
where. you are concerned." 

- She gasped a little. The steady assurance 
of his voice stirred her strangely. 

She tried to release herself from his hold. 
" I don't like this place," she said. " Let 
me go back to Mr. Hill ! " 

" That's just what I can't do/' He bent 
suddenly down to her. "Won't you trust 
me ? " he said. " I didn't fail you last time, 
did I ? " 

She thrilled in answer to those words. It 
was as if thereby he had flung down all 
barriers between them. She stood for a 
moment in indecision, then impulsively she 
turned and grasped his arms. 

" I trust you — absolutely," she told him, 
tremulously. " But — but — though I know 
you don't like him — promise me — you won't 
let— Fletcher— be hurt ! " 

He, too, was silent for a moment before 
responding. She fancied that he flinched a 
little at her words. Then : "All right, I 
promise," he said. 

" Then I will go — wjierever you like," she 
said, bravely, and put' her hand into his. 

He took it into a strong grasp. " That's 
like you," he said, with simplicity. 



THROUGH a labyrinth of many passages 
he led her, over ground that was often 
rough and slimy, with that sound of 
running water in their ears, sometimes near, 
sometimes distant, but never wholly ab&nt. 
Now and then a gleajn of light would come 
from some 'distant crevice, and Dot would 
catch a glimpse of the rocky corridor through 
which they "moved — catch a glimpse afeo of 
her companion walking with his fr6e stride 
beside* her, though occasionally he fctfd~to 
stoop when the roof was low. He did taot 
look at -her, seldom spoke to her, bat fhe 
grasp of his hand held her up and kept all 
fear, at bay. Somehow fear in this rtiaft's 
presence seemed impossible. 

A long time passed, and she was sure that 
they had traversed a considerable distance 
before, very far ahead of them at the end of a 
steep upward slope, she discerned a patch of 

" Is that where we are going ? " she asked. 

" Yes," he said. 

She gazed before her, puzzled. " But 
where are we ? Are we still in the mine ? " 

" No. This is the smugglers' warren." 
She caught a hint of humour in his voice. 
" The stream flows underground all through 
here — and very useful we have found it." 

She gave a great start at his words. " You 
— you are not a smuggler ! " she said. 

He drew her on. " I am a good many 
things," he said, easily, " and the king of this 
rat-run amongst them. There's no one 
knows it as well as I do." 

Her heart sank. " You said — you said 
yesterday — you had lived straight ! " she 
said, in a low vmce] from 

" Did I ? But whatidoes jtumatter to you 

Ethel M. Dell 


She hung upon his shoulder, clinging desperately, while hr. macii? chat perilous ascent." 



Without Prejudice 

how I live ? " With a touch of recklessness 
he put the question. " If Fletcher Hill 
managed to put the official seal on me, what 
would it matter to you — now ? " 

There was almost a note of anger in his 
voice, yet his hand still held hers in the same 
close, reassuring grasp. She could not be 

" It would matter," she said at last. 

" I wonder why ? " said Bill Warden. 

gl Because — we are friends," she said. 

He made a sharp sound as of dissent, but 
he did not openly contradict her. They 
were nearing the opening, and the ground was 
rough and broken. She stumbled once or 
twice, and each time he held her up. Finally 
-they came to a flight of steps that were little 
more than notches cut steeply in the rock. 

" I shall have to carry you here," he said. 

Dot looked upwards with sharp dismay. 
The rocky wall rose twenty feet above her, 
the rough-hewn steps slanting along its face. 
For the first time her heart misgave her. 

*' What a dreadful place ! " she said. 

•' It's the only way out," said Warden, 
" unless we tramp underground nearly half- 
way to WaUacetown." 

" Can't we go back ? " she said, nervously. 

" What 1 Afraid ? " He gave her hand a 
sudden squeeze. 

She looked at him and caught the blue 
fire of his eyes as he bent towards her. 
Something moved her, she knew not what. 
She surrendered herself to him without a 

Once more she hung upon his shoulder, 
clinging desperately, while he made that 
perilous ascent. He went up with amazing 
agility, as if he were entirely unencumbered. 
She felt the strength of his great frame 
beneath her, and marvelled. Again the 
magnetic force of the man possessed her, 
stilling all fear. She shut her eyes dizzily, 
but she was not afraid. 

When she looked up again they were in 
the open. He had set her on her feet, and 
she stood on the rugged side of a mountain 
where no vestige of a path or any habitation 
showed in any direction. For the first time 
he had relinquished all hold upon her, and 
stood apart, almost as if he would turn and 
leave her. 

THE brief twilight was upon them. It 
was as if dark wings were folding 
them round. A small chill wind was 
wandering to and fro. She shivered involun- 
tarily. It sounded like the whispering of an 
evil spirit. The fear she had kept at bay for 
so long laid clammy hands upon her. 

Instinctively she turned to the man for 
protection. " How shall we get away ? " 
she said. 

He moved sharply, so sharply that for a 

single moment she thought that something 
had angered him. And then — all in one 
single blinding instant — she realized that 
which no words could utter. For he caught 
her swiftly to him, lifting her off her feet, 
and very suddenly he covered her >ace and 
neck and throat with hot, devouring yisses — 
kisses that electrified her — kisses that seemed 
to scorch and blister — yet to fill her with a 
pulsing rapture that was almost too great 
to endure. 

She tried to hide her face from him, but 
she could not ; to protest, but his lips stopped 
the words upon her own. She was powerless 
— and very deep down within her there 
leaped a wild thing that rejoiced — that 
exulted — in her powerlessness. 

The fierce storm spent itself. There came 
a pause during which she lay palpitating 
against his breast while his cheek pressed 
hers in a stillness that was in a fashion more 
compelling than even those burning kisses had 

He spoke to her at last, and his voice was 
deep and tender, throbbing with that which 
was beyond utterance. 

" You love me, little new chum," he said. 

There was no question in his words. She 
quivered, and made no answer. That head- 
long outburst of passion had overwhelmed 
her utterly. She was as drift upon the tide. 

He drew a great heaving breath, and 
clasped her closer. His words fell hot upon 
her face. " You are mine ! Why shouldn't 
I keen you ? Fate has given you to me. 
I': ol to let you go again." 

aething — some inner impulse that 
i - . „en stunned to impotence by his 
violence — stirred within her at his words and 
awoke. Yet it was scarcely of her own 
volition that she answered him. " I am — 
not — yours." 

Very faintly the words came from her 
trembling lips, but the utterance of them 
gave her new strength. She moved at last 
in his hold. She turned her face away from 

4t What do you mean ? " He spoke in a 
fierce whisper, but — she felt it instinctively — 
there was less of assurance in his hold. " It 
was that that added to her strength, but she 
offered no active resistance, realizing wherein 
lay his weakness — and her own. 

" I mean," she said, and though it still 
trembled beyond her control, her voice 
gathered confidence with the words, " that 
by taking me — by keeping me — you are 
taking — keeping — what is not your own." 

" Love gives me the right," he asserted, 
swiftly — " your love — and mine." 

But the clearer vision had come to her. 
She shook her head against his shoulder. 
" No — no ! ThEft in wrong. That is not — 

the s^ffltWflBffY OF MICHIGAN 

Ethel M. Dell 


" What do you mean by — the greater 
love ? " He was holding her still closely, 
but no longer with that fierce possession. 

She answered him with a, steadiness that 
surprised herself : "I mean the only love 
that is worth having — the love that lasts." 

He caught up the words passionately. 
" And hasn't my love lasted ? Have I ever 
thought of any other woman since the day I 
met you ? Haven't I been fighting against 
odds ever since to be able to come to you an 
honest man — and worthy of your love ? " 

" Oh, I know — I know ! " she said, and 
there was a sound of heartbreak in her voice. 
" But — the odds have been too heavy: I 
thought you had forgQtten — long ago." 

" Forgotten ! " he said. 

" Yes." With a sob she answered him. 
" Men do forget — nearly all of them. 
Fletcher Hill didn't. He kept on waiting, 
and — and — they said it wasn't fair — to spoil 
a man's life for a dream — that could never 
come\t*ue. So — I gave in at last. I am — 
promised to him." 

" Against your will ? " His arms tightened 
upon her again. " Tell me, little new chum ! 
Was it against your will ? " 

" No ! Oh, no ! " She whispered the words 
through tears. " I gave in — willingly. I 
thought it was better than — an empty life." 

" Ah ! " The word fell like a groan. 
" And that's what you're going to condemn 
me to, is it ? " 

She turned in his arms, summoning her 
strength. " We've got to play the game," 
she said. " I've got to keep my word — 
whatever it costs. And you — you are going 
to keep yours." 

" My word ? " he questioned, swiftly. 

1 * Yes." She lifted her head. " If— if you 
really care about being honest — if your love is 
worth — anything at all — that is the only way. 
You promised — you promised — to save him." 

" Save him for you ? " he said. 

" Yes — save him for me." She did not 
know how she uttered the words, but some- 
how they were spoken. 

They went into a silence that wrung her 
soul, and it cost her every atom of her 
strength not to recall them. 

Bill Warden stood quite motionless for 
many pulsing seconds, then — very, very 
slowly — at length his hold began to slacken" 

In the end he set her on her feet — and she 
was free. " All right, little new chum ! " he 
said, and she heard a new note in his voice — 
a note that waked in her a wild impulse to 
spring back into his arms and cling to him 
— and cling to him. " I'll do it— for you — 
if it kills me — just to show you — iittle girl — 
just to show you — what my love for you is 
really worth." 

He stood a moment, facing her ; then his 
hands clenched and he turned away. 

" Lets go down the hill ! " he said. " 111 
see you in safety first." 

(To be concluded.) 


(The Third of the Series.) 
A Sonnet Xcrostic. 
A priest and bishop, martyrs, consecrate 
The festival that lovers celebrate. 
1. * 4 The idle " poets " of an empty day " 
4 2. Sing of a shaft propelled from Cupid's bow, 

3. To set on fire, and kindle to a glow, 

4. An ice-cold maid, new-pent in cloister grey ; 

5. The hooded robe, her virginal array, 

6. Hideth her face, that fain she would not show 

7. Hot with the flame a vestal should not know — 

8. Its surging flushes melting depths betray ! 

9. Tis human thus to wander from the way : 

10. What can avail when fire encounters snow ? 

11. Forgive her this, who for forgiveness pray ! 

12. Shut off, immured, un mated, even so— 

13. Spirit earth-born, that scents afar the spring, 

14. Reveals the Power that works in everything. 


Answer to No. 90. 



rod r i b 








u n 




ax at i 




a ml as 




ssen c 









Notes* — Light 1. Sir Henry Irving. 2. Achilles. 

7. Against Napoleon III. 8. Fee-fi*fo-fum ; any fitting 
part of the word. 

Acrostic No. 88.— For the first light the published 

answer, " Bushel," provides an unimpeachable solution ; 
but it appears that it is far from exclusive, and a number 
of other words fulfil the required conditions. The Acrost ic 
Editot has decided that all solvers who sent answers to the 
acrostic must be credited with this light. For the third 
light " Grassmarket " furnishes a satisfactory answer, and 
for the sixth light '* Boy-blue." 

Answers to Acrostic No, 91 should be addressed to the 
Acrostic Editor, Thk Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street. Strand, London, W.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on February 9th. 

Solutions should be signed at the foot tcith the sender 9 * 

Two answers may be sent to every light. 

All the acrostics of the series were answered correctly by 
Beggar, Cam. Forest, Junius, Mersey, -Vmjo, Wals, 

. Wvnell, and Zyme ; next to them come sixteen solvers 
who missed only one light. Of the nine leaders. Beggar 
is ineligible for a prize this time ; the other eight will each 
receive a cheque for a guinea and a half, and will be dis- 
qualified from success in the sixteenth series, now running. 
The successful solvers are : Cam. Dr. G. Roper, 
5, Regent Street, Cambridge ; Forest, Mr. P. E. Herrick, 
49a. Tremaine Road, Anerley, S.E.20; Junius, Mr. 
F. C. W. Grigson, Amesbury, Hind head, Surrey ; Mersey. 
Mrs. J. H. Heeley. Elm Lodge. Formby. Liverpool ; 
Vinjo, Mrs. C. B. Keston, Holme Lea, Ilkley, Yorks; 
Wals, Mr. W. Stradling, 12. Bardswell Road, Oxford; 
Wynell, Mr. E. W. M Lloyd, Hartford House. Hartley 

• Wintney, Hitrn^ ; Z>-mo. Mr. J. W. Pulsford. 67. Deau- 
ville R-ied, Glajham, S.W4. 


e ^ 


^\^ mwm, Mtoto,,,, 





IHustrateJ \>y A, Wallw Mills. 

THE summer morning was so bril- 
liantly fine, the populace popped 
to and fro in so active and cheery 
a manner, and every body ap- 
peared to be so absolutely in the pink, that 
a casual observer of the city of New York 
would have said that it was one of those 
happy days. Yet Archie Moffam, as he 
turned out of the sun -bathed street into the 
ramshackle building on the third floor of 
which was the studio belonging to his artist 
friend, James B. Wheeler, was faintly op- 
pressed with a sort of a kind of feeling that 
some thing was wrong. He would not have 
gone so far as to say that he had the pip J it 
was more a vague sense of discomfort. And, 
searching for first causes as he made his way 
upstairs, he came to the conclusion that the 
person responsible for this nebulous depres- 
sion was his wife, Lucille, It seemed to 
Archie that at breakfast that morning 
Ltici lie's manner had been subtly rummy. 
Nothing you could put your finger on, still — 

Musing thus, he reached the studio, and 
found the door open ami the room, empty. 
It had the air of a room whose owner has 
dashed in to fetch his golf-clubs and biffed 
off, after the casual fashion of the artist 
temperament, without bothering to close. up 
behind him. And such, indeed, was the 
case. The studio had seen the last of 
J. B. Wheeler for that day ; but Archie, nut 
realizing this and feeling that a chat with 

Copyright igsi, by 

Mr, Wheeler, who was a light- hear ted bird, 
was what he needed this morning, sat down 
to wait. After a few T moments his gaze, 
straying over the room, encountered a liand- 
somely- framed picture, and he went across 
to take a look at it, 

J, B. Wheeler was an artist who made a 
large annual income as an illustrator for the 
magazines, and it was a surprise to Archie 
to find that he also went in for this kind of 
thing. Fur the picture, dashingly painted 
in oils, represented a comfortably plump 
young woman, who, from her rather weak- 
minded simper and the fact that she wore 
absolutely nothing except a dove on the Jeft 
shoulder, was plainly intended to be the 
goddess Venus. 

He inspected this picture for awhile, then, 
returning to Ms seat, lit a cigarette, and 
began to meditate on Lucille once more. 
Yes, the dear girl had been rummy at break* 
fast. She had not exactly said anything or 
done anything out of the ordinary; but — 
well, you know how tt is. We husbands, w© 
lads of the: for- better- or- for- worse brigade, 
we learn to pierce the mask. There had been 
in Lucille 'a manner that curious, strained 
s weet ness which comes to worn e n w 1 j use 
husbands have failed to match the piece of 
silk or forgotten to post an important letter. 
If his conscience had not been as clear as 
crystal, Archie would have said that that 
was wliat must have ln*en the matter. But 
when Lucille, \\zot 

otters,, she. just stepped 

P. G. Wodehouse 


out of the suite and dropped them in the 
post-box attached to the lift. It couldn't be 
that. And he couldn't have forgotten any- 
thing else, because- 

14 Oh, my sainted aunt I " 

Archie's cigarette smouldered, neglected, 
between his fingers. His jaw had fallen and 
his eyes were staring glassily before him. 
He was appalled. His memory was weak, 
he knew ; but never before had it let him 
down so scurvily as this. This was a record. 
It stood in a class by itself, printed in red 
ink and marked with a star, as the bloomer 
of a lifetime. For a man may forget many 
tilings : he may forget his name, his umbrella, 
his nationality, his spats t and the friends of 
Ms youth ; but there is one thing which 
your married man, your i n -sickness -and -in - 
health lizard, must not forget : and that is 
the anniversary of his wedding-day* 

Remorse swept over Archie like a wave. 
His heart bled for Lucille, No wonder the 
poor girl had been rummy at breakfast I 
What girl wouldn't be rummy at breakfast, 
tied for life to a ghastly outsider like him- 
self ? He gro&ned hollowly, and sagged 
forlornly in his chair ; and, as he did so, the 
Venus caught his eye, For it was an eye- 
catching picture, You might like it or dis- 
like it i but you could not ignore it. 

As a strong swimmer shoots to the surface 
after a high dive, Archie's soul rose suddenly 
from the depths to which it had descended. 

He did not often get inspirations, but he 
got one now, Hope dawned with a jerk. 
The one way out had presentee? itself to him, 
A rich present ! That was the wheeze. If 
he returned to her bearing a rich present he 
might J with the help of Heaven and a face 
of brass, succeed in making her believe that 
he had merely pretended to forget the vital 
date in order to enhance the surprise. 

It was a scheme. It was more, it was an 
egg. Like some great general forming his 
plan of campaign on the eve of battle, 
Archie had the whole bin^e neatly worked 
out inside a minute. He scribbled a note 
to Mr. Wheeler, explaining the situation and 
promising reasonable payment on the instal- 
ment system ; then, placing the note in a 
conspicuous position on the easel, he leaped 
to the telephone, and presently found him- 
self connected with Luci lie's room at the 
Cosmopolis + 

J * Hallo, darling ! " he cooed. 

There was a slight pause at the other end 
of the wire. 

" Oh, hallo, Archie ! " 

Lucille'3 voice was dull and listless, and 
Archied experienced ear could detect that 
she had been crying. He raised his right 
foot and kicked himself indignantly on the 
left ankle. 

M Many happv returns of the day, old 
thing ! " 

A muffled sob floated over the wire. 


1 There waa a little un- 
pleasantness with the 
cabman before star ling." 



The Wigmore Venus 

11 Have you only just remembered ? " said 
Lucille, in a small voice. 

Archie, bracing himself up, cackled glee- 
fully into the receiver. 

• 4 Did I take you in, light of my home ? 
Do you mean to say you really thought I 
had forgotten ? For Heaven's sake ! " 

" You didn't say a word at breakfast." 

" Ah, but that was all part of the devilish 
cunning. I hadn't got a present for you then. 
At least, I didn't know whether it was ready." 

" Oh, Archie, you darling- ! " Lucille 's voice 
had lost its crushed melancholy. She trilled 
like a thrush or a linnet, or any bird that 
goes in largely for trilling. '* Have you 
really got me a present ? " 

" It's here now. The dickens of a fruity 
picture. One of J. B. Wheeler's things. 
You'll like it." 

' " Oh, I know I shall ! I love his work. 
You are an angel ! We'll hang it over the 

" I'll be round with it in something under 
three ticks, star of my soul. I'll take a taxi." 

" Yes, do hurry ! I want to hug you ! " 

" Right-o ! " said Archie. " I'll take two 

IT is not far from Washington Square to 
the Hotel Cosmopolis, and Archie made 

the journey without mishap.- There was a 
little unpleasantness with the cabman before 
starting — he, on the prudish plea that he was 
a married man with a local reputation to keep 
up, declining at first to be seen in company 
with the masterpiece. But on Archie giving 
a promise to keep the front of the picture 
away from the public gaze, he consented to 
take the job on ; and, some ten minutes 
later, having made his way blushf ully through 
the hotel lobby and endured the frank 
curiosity of the boy who worked the lift, 
Archie entered his suite, the picture in his 

He placed it carefully against the wall in 
order to leave himself more scope for em- 
bracing Lucille ; and when the joyful re- 
union — or the sacred scene, if you prefer so 
to call it — was concluded, he stepped forward 
to turn it round and exhibit it. 

" Why, it's enormous ! " said Lucille. M I 
didn't know Mr. Wheeler ever painted pic- 
tures that size. When you said it was one 
of his, I thought it must be the original of a 

magazine drawing, or something like 


Archie had moved back and given her an 
uninterrupted view of the work of art, and 
she had started as if some unkindly-disposed 
person had driven a bradawl into her. 

" Pretty ripe, what ? " said Archie, en- 

Lucille did not speak for a moment. It 
may have been sudden joy that kept her 

silent. Or, on the other hand, it may not. 
She stood looking at the picture with wide 
eyes and parted lips. 

" A bird, eh ? " said Archie. 

" Y-yes," said Lucille. 

" I knew you'd like it," proceeded Archie, 
with animation. " You see, you're by way 
of being a picture-hound — know all about the 
things and what not — inherit it from the 
dear old dad, I shouldn't wonder. Person- 
ally, I can't tell one picture frcm another as 
a rule, but I'm bound to say, the moment I 
set eyes on this, I said to myself, ' What 
ho ! ' or words to that effect. I rather think 
this will add a touch of distinction to the 
home, yes — no ? Ill hang it up, shall I ? 
'Phone down to the office, light of my soul, 
and tell them to send up a nail, a bit of 
string, and the hotel hammer." 

" One moment, darling. I'm not quite 
sure " 

" Eh ? " 

" where it ought to hang, I mean. Ycu 

aCU — ■ — ■ 

" Over the piano, you said. The jolly 
old piano. v 

" Yes, but I hadn't seen it then." 

A monstrous suspicion flitted for an instant 
into Archie's mind. 

" I say, you do like it, don't you ? " he 
said, anxiously. 

" Oh, Archie, darling ! Of course I do ! 
And it was so sweet of you to-give it to me ! 
But what I was trying to say was that this 
picture is so — so striking that I feel that we 
ought to wait a little while and decide where 
it would have the best effect. The light over 
the piano is rather strong." 

" You think it ought to hang in a dimmish 
light, what ? " 

" Yes, yes. The dimmer the — I mean, 
yes, in a dim light. Suppose we leave it in 
the corner for the moment — over there — 
behind the sofa, and — I'll think it over. It 
wants a lot of thought, you know." 

" Right-o ! Here ? " 

" Yes, that will do splendidly. Oh, and, 
Archie ! " 

" Hallo ? " 

" I think, perhaps Just turn its face 

to the wall, will you ? " Lucille gave a little 
gulp. " It will prevent it getting dusty." 

It perplexed Archie a little during the 
next few days to notice in Lucille, whom he 
had always looked on as pre-eminently a 
girl who knew her own mind, a curious streak 
of vacillation. Quite half-a-dozen times he 
suggested various spots on the wall as suit- 
able for the Venus, but Lucille seemed unable 
to decide. Archie wished that she would 
settle on something definite, for he wanted 
to invite J. B. Wheeler to the suite to see 
the thing. K? Swjdl hoard nothing from the 
artist since tfae day he bad removed the 


P. G. Wodehouse 


picture ; and one morning, encountering him 
on Broadway, he expressed his appreciation 
of the very decent manner in which the other 
had taken the whole affair. 

" Oh, that ! " said J. B. Wheeler. " My 
dear fellow, you're welcome." He paused 
for a moment. " More than welcome," he 
added. " You aren't much of an expert on 
pictures, are you ? " 

" Well," said Archie, ' I don't know that 
you'd call me an absolute nib, don't you 
know, but of course I know enough to see 
that this particular exhibit is not a little 
fruity. Absolutely one of the best things 
you've ever done, laddie." 

A slight purple tinge manifested itself in 
Mr. Wheeler's round and rosy face. His eyes 

" What are you talking about, you Tish- 
bite ? You misguided son of Belial, are you 
under the impression that / painted that 
thing ? " 

" Didn't you ? " 

Mr. Wheeler swallowed a little convul- 

•' My fiancke painted it," he said, shortly. 

" Your fiancie ? My dear old lad, I didn't 
know you were engaged. Who is she ? Do 
I know her ? " 

" Her name is Alice Wigmore. You don't 
know her." 

M And she painted that picture ? " Archie 
was perturbed. " But, I say ! Won't she be 
apt to wonder where the thing has got to ? " 

"I told her it had been stolen. She thought 
it a great compliment, and was tickled to 
death. So that's all right." 

" And, of course, she'll paint you another." 

" Not while I have my strength she 
won't," said J. B. Wheeler, firmly. " She's 
given up painting since I taught her golf, 
thank goodness ! and my best efforts shall 
be employed in seeing that she doesn't have 
a relapse." 

" But, laddie," said Archie, puzzled, " you 
talk as though there were something wrong 
with the picture. I thought it dashed fine 

' God bless you ! " said J. B. Wheeler. 

Archie proceeded on his way, still mystified. 

AT breakfast next morning Archie once 
more brought up the question of the 
hanging of the picture. 
" Touching the jolly old masterpiece," he 
said. " How about it ? I think it's time 
we hoisted it up somewhere." 

" Archie, dear," said Lucille, '* I've been 

" And a veiy good thing to do," said 
Archie. " I've often meant to do it myself 
when I got a bit of time." 

" About that picture, I mean. Did you 
know it was father's birthday to-morrow ? " 

" Why, no, old thing, I didn't, to be abso- 
lutely honest. Your revered parent doesn't 
confide in me much these days, as a matter of 

" Well, it is. And I think we ought to 
give him a present." 

" Absolutely. But how ? I'm all for 
spreading sweetness and light and cheering 
up the jolly old pater's sorrowful existence, 
but I haven't a bean. And, what is more, 
things have come to such a pass that I scan 
the horizon without seeing a single soul I 
can touch. I suppose I could get into 
Reggie van Tuyl's ribs for a bit, but — I don't 
know — touching poor old Reggie always 
seems to me rather like potting a sitting 

" Of course I don't want you to do any- 
thing like that. I was thinking Archie, 

darling, would you be very hurt if I gave 
father the picture ? " 

" Oh, I say ! " 

" Well, I can't think of anything else." 

" But wouldn't you miss it most fright- 
fully ? " 

4< Oh, of course I should ! But, you see — 
father's birthday " 

Archie had always thought Lucille the 
dearest and most unselfish angel in the 
world, but never had the fact come home to 
him so forcibly as now. He kissed her 

" By Jove ! " he exclaimed. " You really 
are, you know ! This is the biggest thing 
since jolly old Sir Philip What's-his-name 
gave the drink of water to the poor blighter 
whose need was greater than his, if you 
recall the incident. I had to sweat it up at 
school, I remember. Sir Philip, poor old 
bean, had a most ghastly thirst on, and he 
was just going to have one on the house, so 
to speak, when — but it's all in the history 
books. This is the sort of thing Boy Scouts 
do ! Well, of course, it's up to you, queen 
of my soul. If you feel like making the 
sacrifice, right-o ! Shall I bring the pater 
up here and show him the picture ? " 

" No, I shouldn't do that. Do you think 
you could get into his suite to-morrow morn- 
ing and hang it up somewhere ? You see, 
if he had the chance of — what I mean is, if — 
yes, I think it would be best to hang it up, 
and let him discover it there." 

" It would give him a surprise, you mean, 
what ? " 

" Yes." 

Lucille sighed inaudibly. She was a girl 
with a conscience, and that conscience was 
troubling her a little. She agreed with 
Archie that the discovery of the Wigmore 
Venus in his artistically-furnished suite would 
give Mr. Brewster a surprise. Surprise, 
indeed, was perhaps tin inadequate word. 
She WjEjSiBprry for her father, but the instinct 


The Wigmore Venus 

of self-preservation is stronger than any 
other emotion. 

ARCHIE whistled merrily on the following 
morning as, having driven a nail into 
his father-in-law's wall-paper, he ad- 
justed the cord from which the Wigm6re 
Venus was suspended. He had just com- 
pleted his work and was stepping cautiously 
down, when a voice behind him nearly caused 
him to overbalance. 

" What the devil ? " 

Archie turned beamingly. 

" Hallo, old thing ! Many happy returns 
of the day ! " 

Mr. Brewster was standing in a frozen atti- 
tude. His strong face was slightlv flushed. 

" What— what ? " he gurgled. 

Mr. Brewster was not in one of his sunniest 
moods that morning. The proprietor of a 
large hotel has many things to disturb him, 
and to-day things had been going wrong. 
He had come up to his suite with the idea 
of restoring his shaken nerve-system with 
a quiet cigar, and the sight of his son-in-law 
had, as so frequently happened, made him 
feel worse than ever. 

He stared at the Venus dumbly. Unlike 
most hotel proprietors, Daniel Brewster was 
a connoisseur of art. Connoisseuring was, 
in fact, his hobby. Even the public rooms 
of the Cosmopolis were decorated with taste, 
and his own private suite was a shrine of 
all that was best and most artistic. His 
tastes were quiet and restrained, and it is 
not too much to say that the Wigmore Venus 
hit him behind the ear like a stuffed eel-skin. 

So great was the shock that for some 
moments it kept him silent, and before he 
could recover speech Archie had explained. 

" It's a birthday present from Lucille, 
don't you know." 

Mr. Brewster crushed down the breezy 
speech he had intended to utter. 

" Lucille gave me — that ? " he muttered. 

He swallowed pathetically. He was suffer- 
ing, but the iron courage of the Brewsters 
stood him in good stead. This man was no 
weakling. Presently the rigidity of his face 
relaxed. He was himself again. Of all 
things in the world he loved his daughter 
most, and if, in whatever mood of temporary 
insanity, she had brought herself to suppose 
that this beastly daub was the sort. of thing 
he would like for a birthday present, he must 
accept the situation like a man. He would 
on the whole have preferred death to a life 
lived in the society of the Wigmore Venus, 
but even that torment must be endured if 
the alternative was the hurting of Lucille 's 

" I think I've chosen a pretty likely spot 
to hang the thing, what ? " said Archie, 
cheerfully. " It looks well alongside those 

Japanese prints, don't you think ? Sort of 
stands out." 

Mr. Brewster licked his dry lips and grinned 
a ghastly grin. 

<f It does stand out ! " he agreed. 

ARCHIE was not a man who readily 
allowed himself to become worried, 
especially about people who were not 
in his own immediate circle of friends ; 
but in the course of the next week he 
was bound to admit that he was not alto- 
gether easy in his mind about his father- 
in-law's mental condition. Undeniably he 
was behaving in an odd manner; and Archie, 
though no physician, was aware that, when 
the American business-man, that,, restless, 
ever-active human machine, starts behaving 
in an odd manner, the next thing you know 
is that two strong men, one attached to each 
arm, are hurrying him into the cab bound 
for the asylum. 

He did not confide his misgivings to Lucille, 
not wishing to cause her anxiety. He hunted 
up Reggie van Tuyl at the club, and sought 
advice from him. 

" I say, Reggie, old thing — present com- 
pany excepted — have there been any loonies 
in your family ? " 

Reggie stirred in the slumber which always 
gripped him in the early afternoon. 

" Loonies ? " he mumbled, sleepily. 
" Rather ! My uncle Edgar thought he was 

'• Twins, eh ? " 

" Yes. , Silly idea ! I mean, you'd have 
thought one of my uncle Edgar would have 
been enough for any man." 

" How did the thing start ? " asked Archie. 

" Start ? Well, the first thing we noticed 
was when he began wanting two of every- 
thing. Had to set two places for him at 
dinner, and so on. Always wanted two 
seats at the theatre. Ran into money, I can 
tell you." 

" He didn't behave rummily up till then ? 
I mean to say, wasn't sort of jumpy and all 
that ? " 

" Not that I remember. Why ? " 

Archie's tone became grave. 

41 Well, I'll teU you, old man, though I 
don't want it to go any farther, that I'm a 
bit worried about my jolly old father-in-law. 
I believe he's about to go in off the deep 
end. I think he's cracking under the strain. 
Dashed weird his behaviour has been the last 
few days." 

" Such as ? " murmured Mr. van Tuyl. 

" Well, the other morning I happened to 
be in his suite — incidentally, he wouldn't go 
above ten dollars, and I wanted twenty-five 
— and he suddenly picked up a whacking big 
paper-weight and bunged it for all he we.s 


P. G+ Wodehouse 


M At you ? " 

*' Not at me. That was the rummy part 
of it. At a mosquito on the wall, he said, 
Well, I mean to say, do chappies bung paper- 
weights at mosquitoes ? I mean, is it done ? " 

" Smash anything ? " 

" Curiously enough, no. But he only just 
missed a rather decent picture which Lucille 
had given him for his birthday. Another 
foot to the left and it would have been 

,( Sounds queer/' 

*■ And, talking of that picture, I looked 
on him about a 
couple of after- 
noons later, and 
he'd taken it down 
from the wall and 
laid it on the floor, 
and was staring 
at it in a dashed 
marked sort of 
manner. That 
was peculiar, 
what ? *' 

"On the floor?" 

'On the jolly old 
carpet. When 1 
came in, he was 
goggling at it in 
a sort of glassy 
way. Absolutely 
rapt, don't you 
know. My coming 
in gave him a start 
—seemed to rouse 
him from a kind of 
trance, you know 
—and he jumped 
like an antelope, 
and, if I hadn't 
happened to grab 
him, he would 
have trampled 
bang on the thing. 
It was deuced 
unpleasant , you 
know. His man- 
ner was rummy. 
He seemed to be 

brooding on something. What ought I to 
do about it, do you think ? It's not my 
affair, of course, but it seems to me that t if 
he goes on like this, one of these days he'll 
be stabbing someone with a pickle-fork." 

To Archie's relief, his father-in-law's symp- 
toms showed no signs of development. In 
fact, his manner reverted to the normal once 
more : and a few days later, meeting Archie 
in the lobby of the hotel, he seemed quite 
cheerful, It was not often that he wasted 
his time talking to his son-in-law, but on 
this occasion he chatted with him for several 
minutes about the big picture robbery which 

He had just completed his work, when a voice behind him nearly 
caused him to overbalance/* 

had formed the chief item of news on the 
front pages of the morning papers that day. 
It was Mr. Brewster's opinion that the out- 
rage had been the work of a gang, and that 
nobody was safe. 

Daniel Brewster had spoken of this matter 
with a strange earnestness, but his words 
had slipped from Archie's mind when he 
made his way that night to his father-in-law's 
suite. Archie was in an exalted mood. In 
the course of dinner he had had a bit of 
good news which was occupying his thoughts 
to the exclusion of all other matters. It 
had left him in a comfortable, if rather 



The Wigmore Venus 

dizzy, condition of benevolence to all created 

He found the door of the Brewster suite 
unlocked, which at any other time would 
have struck him as unusual ; but to-night 
he was in no frame of mind to notice these 
trivialities. He went in, and, finding the 
room dark and no one at home, sat down 
too absorbed in his thoughts to switch on the 
lights, and gave himself up to dreamy 

THERE are certain moods in which one 
loses count of time, and Archie could 
not have said how long he had been 
sitting in the deep arm-chair near the 
window when he first became aware that 
he was not alone in the room. He had 
closed his eyes, the better to meditate, so 
had not seen anyone enter. Nor had he 
heard the door open. The first intimation 
he had that somebody had come in was 
when some hard substance knocked against 
some other hard object, producing a sharp 
sound which brought him back to earth 
with a jerk.* . 

. He sat up silently. The fact that the room 
was still in darkness made it obvious that 
something 'nefarious was afoot. Plainly there 
was dirty work in preparation at the cross- 
roads. He stared into the blackness, and 
as his eyes grew accustomed to it, was 
presently able to see an indistinct form bend- 
ing over something on the floor. # The sound 
of rather stertorous breathing came to him. 

Archie had many defects which prevented 
him being the perfect man, but lack of 
courage was not one of them. He was out 
of his chair and sailing in the direction of the 
back of the intruder's neck before a wiser man 
would have completed his plan of campaign. 
The miscreant collapsed under him with a 
squashy sound, like the wind going out of a 
pair of bellows ; and Archie, taking a firm 
seat on his spine, rubbed the other's face in 
the carpet and awaited the progress of 

At the end of half a minute it became 
apparent that there was going to be no 
counter-attack. The dashing swiftness of 
the assault had, apparently, had the effect 
of depriving the marauder of his entire stock 
of breath. He was gurgling to himself in a 
pained sort of way and making no effort to 
rise. Archie, feeling that it would be safe 
to get up and switch on the light, did so ; 
and, turning after completing the manoeuvre, 
was greeted by the spectacle of his father-in- 
law, seated on the floor in a breathless and 
dishevelled condition, blinking at the sudden 
illumination* On the carpet beside Mr. 
Brewster lay a long knife, and beside the 
knife lay the handsomely -framed master- 
piece of J. B. Wheeler's fiancie, Miss Alice 

Wigmore. Archie stared at this collection 

" Oh, what-ho ! " he observed at length, 

A distinct chill manifested itself in the 
region of Archie's spine. This could mean 
only one thing. His fears had been realized. 
The strain of modern life had at last proved 
too much for Mr. Brewster. Crushed by the 
thousand- and -one worries of a millionaire's 
existence, Daniel Brewster had gone off his 

Archie was nonplussed. This was his first 
experience of this kind of thing. What, he 
asked himself, was the proper procedure in 
a situation of this sort ? He was still musing 
in an embarrassed and baffled way, when 
Mr. Brewster spoke. And there was in 
both the words and sthe method of their 
delivery so much of his old familiar self 
that Archie felt quite jelieved. 

" So it's you, is it, you wretched blighter ? " 
said Mr. Brewster. He glowered at his son- 
in-law despondently. ' ' I might have expected 
it ! If I was at the North Pole, I could count 
on you butting in ! " 

" Shall I get you a drink of water ? " said 

" What the devil," demanded Mr. Brewster, 
" do you imagine I want with a drink of 
water ? " 

" Well — — " Archie hesitated, delicately. 
" I had a sort of idea that you had been 
feeling the strain ajbit. I mean to say, rush 
of modern life and jail that sort of. thing." 

" What are. you doing in my room ? " said 
Mr. Brewster, changing the subject. 

" Well, I came to tell you something, and I 
came, in here and was waiting for you, and 
I saw some chappie biffing about in the dark, 
and I thought it was a burglar or something, 
after some of your things ; so, thinking it 
over, I got the idea that it would be a fairly 
juicy scheme to land on him with both feet. 
No Idea it was you, old thing ! Frightfully 
sorry and all that. Meant well ! " 

Mr. Brewster sighed deeply. t He was a 
just man, and he could not but realize that, 
in the circumstances, Archie had behaved 
not unnaturally. 

" Oh, well," he said, " I might have known 
something would go wrong." 

" Awfully sorry 1 " 

" It can't be helped. What was it you 
wanted to tell me ? " He eyed his son-in- 
law piercingly. " Not a cent over twenty 
dollars ! " he said, coldly. 

Archie hastened to dispel the pardonable 

" Oh. it wasn't anything like that," he 
said. "As a matter of fact, I think it's a 
good egg. K has bucked me up to no in- 
considerable degree. I was dining with 
Lucille just now, and, as we dallied with the 


P. G. Wodehouse 


you would mind at some tolerably near date 
being a grandfather ! Rotten thing to be, 
of course/' proceeded Archie, commiserat- 
ingly, " for a chappie of vour age ; but there 
it is"! " 

Mr. Brewster gulped* 

'* Do you mean to say ft 

" I mean, apt to make a fetlow feel a bit 
of a patriarch. Snowy hair and what not. 
And, of course, for a chappie in the prime 
of life like you — — ft 

u Do you mean to tell me Is this 

true ? " 

Ti Absolutely ! Of course, speaking for 
I don't know when 
I sang as I came up 

' Archie switched on the light, and was greeted by the spectacle of his father-in-law seated on 
the floor in a breathless and dishevelled condition/* 

foodstuffs, she told me something which — 
well, I'm bound to say it made me feel 
considerably braced. She told me to trot 
along and ask if you would mind- " 

" I gave Lucille a hundred dollars only 
last Tuesday/' 

Archie was pained. 

*' Adjust this sordid outlook, old thing," 
he urged. fI You simply aren't anywhere 
near it, Right off the target, absolutely ! 
What Lucille told me to ask you was if 

here — absolutely warbled in the lift. But 


A curious change had come over Mr. 

Brewster. For a moment he gazed at 

Archie, then, moving quickly forward, he 

grasped his hand in an iron grip, 

" This is the best news I've ever had/ 1 

** Awfully good of you to take it like this,' 1 

said Archie, cordially- " I mean, being a 

grandfather^ j na | fmrn 

%^m r cMHIG?fl a man of his 


The Wigmore Venus 

appearance one could hardly say that he 
smiled playfully ; but there was something 
in his expression that remotely suggested 

*' My dear old bean ! JP he said, 

Archie started* 

44 My dear old bean/' repeated Mr, Brew- 
ster, firmly; "I'm the happiest man in 
America ! " His eyes fell on the picture 
which lay on the floor. He gave a slight 
shudder, but recovered. himself immediately. 
"After this," he said, " 1 can reconcile myself 
to living with that thing for the rest of my 
life, I feel it doesn't matter/' 

" I say/' said Archie, ( * how about that ? 
Wouldn't have brought the thing up if you 
hadn't introduced the topic, but, speaking 
as man to man, what the dickens were you 
up to when I landed on your spine just now ? " 

" I suppose you thought I had gone off my 
head ? " 

** Well, I'm bound to say^— " 

Mr. Brewster cast an unfriendly glance at 
the picture. 

" Well, I had every excuse, after living with 
that infernal thing for a week/' 

Archie looked at him, astonished. 

*' I say, old thing, I don't know if I have 
got your meaning exactly, but you somehow 
give me the impression that you 
don't like that jollv old work of 

* Like it ! " cried Mr. Brewster. 
M It's nearly driven 
me mad . Every time 
it caught my eye it 
gave me a pain in 
the neck. To-night 
I felt as if I couldn't 
stand it any longer, 
I didn't want to hurt 
Lucille's feelings by 
telling her, so I made 
up my mind I would 
cut the darned thing 
out of its frame and 
tell her it had been 

* What an extra- 
ordinary thing! 
Why, that's exactly 
what o 1 d Wheeler 

"Who is old 
Wheeler ? J ' 

M Artist chappie. 
Pad of mine. His 
fiancee painted the 
thing, and, when I 
lifted it off him, he 
told her it had been 
stolen. He didn't 
seem frightfully keen 
on it, either/ 1 

*' Your friend Wheeler evidently has good 
taste. " 

Archie was thinking. 

" Well, all this rather gets past me/' he 
said. " Personally, I've always admired 
the thing. Dashed ripe bit of work, I've 
always considered. Still, if you feel that 

way " 

* You may take it from me that I do ! " 
' Well, then, in that case — you know what 
a clumsy devil I am — you can tell Lucille it 
was all my fault/' 

The Wigmore Venus smiled up at Archie 
—it seemed to Archie with a pathetic, 
pleading smile. For a moment he was 
conscious of a feeling of guilt ; then, closing 
his eyes and hardening his heart, he sprang 
lightly in the air and descended with both 
feet on the picture, There was a "sound 
of rending canvas, and the Venus ceased to 
smile. ,r ' 

" Golly ! " said Archie, regarding the 
wreckage remorsefully, 

Mr, Brewster did not share his remorse. 
For the secrmri time that night he gripped 
him by the hand, 

' My boy ! " he quavered. He stared at 
Archie as if he were seeing him with new eyes* 
' My dear boy, you were through the war, 
were you not ? " 

■ Eh ? Oh, yes. Right through the joliv 
war ! " 

What was your rank ? " 

" Oh, second lieu- 

" You ought really 
to have been a 
general, " Mr. Brew ■ 
ster clasped his hand 
once more in a vigor- 
ous embrace. 'I 
only hope/ he added, 
+ that your son will 
be like you ! " „ 

There are certain 
compliments, or com- 
pliments coming 
from certain sources, 
be fore which modesty 
reels, stunned. 
Archie's did. 

He swallowed con- 
vulsively. He had 
never thought to 
hear these words 
from Daniel Brew- 

41 How would it be, 
old thing," he said, 
almost brokenly, " if 
you and I trickled 
down to the bar and 
had a little spot of 
herbet ? JJ 

1 1 only hope/ he added, ' that your son will 
be like you ! ' " 





= = Jin Interview with 


MR. JOSEPH HARKER has created 
some of the finest spectacular 
scenes of recent years— one need 
cite only M Kismet/' " Chu Chin 
Chow/ 1 and more particularly, in reference 
to the past twelve months, " A Southern 
Maid M — perhaps Ms chef d 1 ceuvre — and " The 
Garden of Allah/' notably its middle 
" Garden " scene* 

I therefore counted myself fortunate when 
Mr. Harker, who, it is interesting to note, 
has been appointed president of the newly 
formed Guild of Scene Painters, agreed to 
receive me, to be interviewed for the first 
time on the subject of himself and his work. 

His studio is one of the biggest of its kind 
in the country — from the outside it looks 
big enough to house R34 or either of her 
sister craft — and quite dwarfs Mi\ Oscar 
Asche's commodious " property H store, 
which adjoins it. At the time of my visit 
Mr. Harker was, by a happy coincidence, 
celebrating the completion fli exactly half 
a century of scene- painting — by working 
harder than ever. I found him engaged on 
a canvas, sixty feet by forty feet or so — 
"quite a small one for this studio/' he 
remarked, when I commented wondering! y 
on its size— which will soon be seen and 
admired by Antipodean audiences. 

For a few moments he continued to ply 
his brush ; then David* the studio handy- 

VoLIxi.— 12. Copyright^ 19*1, 


man, his garments plastered with the paint 
of thirty years' service, strove valiantly at 
a winch, at which I half expected to see a 
boat appear in the foreground of the blue 
Mediterranean seascape, so suggestive was 
the action ; and slowly the lower portion 
of the great picture sank out of sight through 
an aperture in the floor, until the upper edge 
was nearly level with the eyes. A studied 
reference to a model stage-setting which 
stood on a near-by table ; a daub of blue 
and a touch of crimson on a range of hills 
that marked the horizon of the scene ; and 
Mr. Harker was free to talk. 


Fifty Years of Scene-Painting 

we had ad jo timed to a quiet corner of 
the painting- room, * that very few people 
realize the amount .of labour involved in the 
making of a stage scene. Some seem to 
think that a piece 
of scenery is merely 
a thing of daubs and 
splashes, that the 
colours are just flung 
on with the brush, 
and that so long as 
the artifit — he isn't 
an artist in the esti- 
mation of those who 
hold this view of the 
scene - painter's job 
— succeeds in trans- 
forming his canvas 
into a presentable 
likeness of , say, Picca- 
dilly, or a dell in 
Arcady, nothing else 

11 In defence of 
my fellow-craftsmen 
I would like to say 
that scene - painting 
is a rather more 
complicated business 
than that I One of 
the greatest of the 

scenic artist's difficulties is that he is able 
to see and work on only a comparatively 
small portion of his canvas at a time, a 
fact which demands of him unerring judg- 
ment in visualizing 
the effect of his work 
as a whole. 

"In practice every 
stage scene has its 
qenesis with the pro- 
ducer. That is to 
say, when a new play 
is being brought out 
the design and stvJe 
of the settings are 
decided by the pro- 
ducer, acting perhaps 
in conjunction with 
the author. These 
points settled, I am 
called on to prepare 
models of the set- 
tings. These are 
submitted to the 
producer for his ap- 
proval and, if nece*-* 
sary, alteration. 

" Usually I get a 
chance of reading 
the play beforehand. 
In the case of Mr. 


" Following the sketching of the outlines the colours are put an, until gradually the canvas 
assumes the appearance of a giant picfj^ ^ '^p J, flg^' 

An Interview with Mr. Joseph Harker 175 

Asche'a productions, he 
himself reads the play to 
me, after which he leaves 
me to make my models 
in my own way. Not all 
producers, however, are so 
considerate ! 

u Sir Augustus Harris 
— Gus Harris, as he was 
familiarly known by all — 
would give the most 
minute instructions for a 
model and then counter- 
mand them almost in the 
same breath. And if a 
model didn't meet his ap- 
proval he had no qualms 
about smashing it on the 
spot ! I remember once, 
when he was contem- 
plating producing a new 
play, he asked me to make 
a model at twenty-four 
hours' notice — quick work, I may say. As 
it happened, I had in my studio a model 
exactly similar to the one he wanted me to 
make— it was for an Indian mosque scene — 
one which he had condemned in no uncer- 
tain language about two years before. 

" Thinking that by this time he would 
have forgotten its existence, I carefully 
dusted and touched up this old model, and 
the next day produced it for his inspection. 
Then I waited for him to commend me on 
my promptitude ! 

" But Harris remembered— and what he 
said to me, after wrecking the offending 
model with his fist, is, I regret to say, 
unsuitable for publication in The Strand 

" + On another occasion he was exceedingly 
angry because in the model scene of the 


is a 

Model of a scene for " Mecca," the play which is lo succeed 
41 Chu Chin Chow/' 

interior of the old Charing Cross Station, 
looking down the line, with the bookstall 
as the centre-piece, I hadn't introduced 
Nelson's Column, St, Paul's Cathedral, the 
Clock Tower at Westminster, and one or 
tw r o other notable London landmarks. 

<H ' But,' 1 protested, * it isn't possible to 
see either from inside the station ! * 

iH ' Never mind about that ! J snapped 
Harris. " Put 'em in — they'll never be any 
the wiser/ 

N So, in deference to the great producer's 
showman instincts, I put the whole collection 
in the scene, and, for all I am aware, they — 
the public of the day — never were the 
wiser I 

" The model scenes — stage settings hi 
miniature— are all made to scale and arc 
replicas, down to the last detail, of the 

settings they re- 
present. In the 
case of representa* 
tions of act tl a I 
places, I collect 
my material for 
the models from 
the author or pro- 
ducer of the play, 
from photographs 
or other illustra- 
tions, from autho- 
ritative books, or 
from people who 
know the scenes. 
And when these 
sources of infor- 
mation and in- 
spiration fail I 
study the scene 
for myself : my 
in search 

big, shallow tray, divided into many compartments, each con- 

taining a prodigious quantity of paint, while the brushes are Ithc vizt cv 

whitewash brushes." UNIVERSITY OF MICHEAt**> 


Fifty Years of Scene-Painting 



of local colour have, in fact, taken me to 
many parts of the world. 

■* Once a model has been approved, I am 
able to go ahead with the making of 
scenery* The model for that scene, 
instance * J — here Mr. Harker directed 
attention to a second large canvas — «" was 
passed a few days ago, The canvas is now 
fixed in the frame, preparatory to the ground 
tints being laid in." 

The frame referred to takes 
the place in the scenic artist s 
studio of the easel on which 
the M small-scale " artist usually 
works. It consists of a square 
steel framework, rising from 
the ground -floor, right up 
through the first floor, and so 
almost to the roof. The can- 
vas is spread on a wooden 
11 stretcher/' which is hung 
upright in the frame, the 
scene being lowered or raised 
by means of chains and 
weights, worked by a winch. 

The ground tint having been 
laid in, lines of perspective are 
drawn, together with the out- 
lines of the principal features 
of the piece of scenery con- 
cerned. In place of a pencil 
the artist employs a stick of 
charcoal fastened on a long 
handle. Every implement he 
uses is, in fact, almost gro- 
tesquely large. His brushes 

obtain this the artist cuts out the shapes 
of the trunks, the branches, the twigs, and 
the foliage. In the theatre fragde pieces ol 
scenery, such as twigs and leaves, are sup- 
ported by tine fish-net, which is invisible 
from the auditorium. 

Propped against the walls of the studio I 
noticed numerous fragmentary ' pieces/" all 
in various stages of completion. There was 

Mr. Harker working on a scene 

representing Monte Carlo — 

which is roughly outlined re 

scale in the smaller picture. 

are the size of whitewash brushes, except 
those used for fine work, his palette is a 
big shallow tray, divided into many com- 
partments, each containing a prodigious 
quantity of paint, while if he uses a maul- 
stick — I did not see one on this occasion — I 
have no doubt that it is an out-size in 
drumsticks ! 

Following the sketching of the outlines 
the colours are put in, until gradually the 
canvas assumes the appearance of a Riant 
picture of, say, a group of trees. Instead 
of a picture of trees, however, a life-like 
representation of them is reauired, and to 

part of an ** interior " set, resplendent with 
blue and gold, while, close by, one of the 
artist's sons was putting the finishing touches 
to a scene which, by the time this article 
appears, will be in use at the London 
Coliseum, And, with the aid of the afore- 
mentioned charcoal stick, a studio hand was 
making on the virgin surface of a smaller 
canvas a sketch of the front of a Breton 
village shop, with sabots and highly-coloured 
fruit and vegetables as its chief wares. 

" The big panel you see there," Mr. Harker 
pointed 6htK' h w going to Australia with 
■ Ch^imUgvgq^F M£HjKIA Notice anything 

An Interview with Mr, Joseph Harker 177 

unusual about the birds in its decorative 
scheme ? They were intended to be pea- 
cocks, but peacocks are regarded with 
superstition in stage circles, so I substituted 
turkeys 1 

** A single piece of scenery may — and often 
doe s— t a k e a 
month or six 
weeks of con- 
tinuous work to 
complete it. The 
1 Garden ' scene 
in * The Garden 
of Allah ' — in 
which, incident- 
all y t my son 
Gordon has a 
part— took me 
nearer three 
months, but then 
f painted it my- 
self, and I am no 
longer a young 
man ! The scen- 
ery 1 ' for ' Mecca/ 
part of i which 
you see here — 
the play is to 
follow ' Chu Chin 
Chow' — will 
probably occupy 
four months in 
the making. The 
fact that four of 
my six sons are 
back again to 
help me has, of 
course , con side r - 
ably increased 
my output, 

"And now 
you ask, how 
did I become a 

scene-painter ? To answer that question I 
must take you back ta 1870, in which year 
— my fifteenth — -I was apprenticed to my 
then future father-in-law, T, W. Hall, the 
scene-painter. Prior to that I had been on 
the stage for three years, with my parents, 
who were members of the old stock and 
touring companies. My mother was Maria 
O'Connor, a well-known Manchester actress 
and sister of John O'Connor, the artist. 
But stage life didn't appeal to me. I wanted 
to paint scenery, not merely stand in front 
of it. One day my mother took me to see 
the scene-painter at the old Prince of Wales's 
at Birmingham, to inquire if he would take 
me as an assistant, 

** ' Go over to the winch, boy/ said the 
painter, when my mother had finished her 
recital of my virtues, 4 and wind up that 

" I tried my hardest and failed. 

Winch for winding up and down the huge canvas on 
which the scene -painter works. 

" ' I'm sorry, ma'am,' said the painter, 
' but I'm afraid your boy won't do P He 
hasn't got enough leverage/ And when my 
mother explained that I wanted to paint 
and not just do odd jobs, he shook his head 
and said that I should never become a 

scene-painter. * A 
scene - painter 
must have lever- 
age/ he empha- 
sized, as he 
turned to go on 
with his work. 

M In the days of 
my apprentice- 
ship, Buckstone 
was manager at 
the Haymarket . 
He played many 
parts in his time, 
his favourite 
characters being, 
I remember. Sir 
Benjamin Back- 
bite, Tony Lump- 
kin, Bob Acres, 
and Sir Andrew 
Aguecheek. He 
himself was what 
is known as a 
' charac te r / 
Once, during a 
rehearsal at 
which I was 
present, he called 
loudly for a lady 
member of the 
cast who was 
m i s s i n g. The 
explanation o f 
her absence was 
that she was 
suffering from 
something akin to a broken heart, as the 
result of the callous behaviour of her lover. 

11 ' You scoundrel ! ' roared Buckstone, 
suddenly turning on his terrified stage- 
carpenter. ' If you don't make it up with 
her before the day's out 111 kick you out 
of the theatre ! J 

" Whether the stage -carpenter obeyed or 
not I never knew, but as a matter of fact 
Buckstone himself was the culprit ! 

" Shortly after leaving my father-in-law 
I entered the Lyceum studio, under Hawes 
Craven. One day Irving called : ' I am 
looking for a young man named Harker/ 
he said, and when Craven presented me, 
Irving explained that in the days when he 
was struggling and unknown my father had 
done him a service, and that now he was 
able to do so he wished to return it. It was 
characteristic of Irving that he never forgot 


Fifty Years of Scene-Painting 

M He talked to me about my work 
and my ambitions, and then, after having 
consulted Craven as to my ability, sug- 
gested that I should paint a scene for one 
of his productions of ' Macbeth/ After- 
wards he engaged me to paint scenes for 
all his productions, and I did so until he 

p I remember when he was rehearsing the 
production of 4 Macbeth/ in question, his 
temper was slightly ruffled by an actor 
whose delivery was soulless and all but 

"'I wish you would put a little more go 

into your lines, Mr, / Irving suddenly 

rapped out. 4 Please remember you're not 
playing Little Bo- Peep I ' 

"AT another time, when Irving was 
/-\ playing Macbeth, the audience ap- 
parent ly got so depressed by the 
gloomy atmosphere of the play that when, 
towards the close, the curtain ' rolled up 
on a cheerful rustic scene, a gallery it e 
gave vent to his relief by shouting * Good 
old England ! ' while the rest of the audi- 
ence applauded the sentiment so vocifer- 
ously that the action of the play was 
momentarily held up. It was one of the 
most remarkable demonstrations I have ever 

" Speaking of fellow-craftsmen, I am re- 
minded of the late Albert Callcott, who 
was by way of being a scenic artist of note, 
Callcott was absolutely wrapped up in his 
%vbrk ; so much so that he apparently never 
thought or talked of anything else. On one 
occasion the studio hands were discussing 
Gladstone over their lunch, 
' " ' Gladstone ? Gladstone ? ' inquired 

Callcott, blankly. ' \Yho is he ? Can he 
paint ? ' 

"At another time a producer exclaimed, 
apropos a scene which Callcott had painted 
for him, ( Simply diabolical I ' 

" ' Beg pardon/ said Callcott, abruptly, 
* but it's nothing of the sort - — it's pure 

"In my hearing he once sneering] y 
referred to chess-players as * great big men 
playing with little bits of wood ! ' 

" More stories have been attributed to 
Tree than to almost any other famous actor. 
This one, at any rate, has the merit of being 
true ! Tree was producing f Twelfth Night/ 
just after he had experienced a series of 
reverses in his many stage ventures. At 
the time of which I speak he was, to use a 
common phrase, * going slow ' in the matter 
of expenditure. 

" * Remember I ' he said, after having 
arranged with me to paint the scenes, ' the 
keynote of this production is joy/ adding, 
in an aside, 4 with economy ! * 

" I have told you two stories of Harris : a 
third has just occurred to me. A fellow- 
craftsman of mine had painted the scenery 
for * Mother Goose/ the pantomime which 
Harris was producing that year. When the 
last scene was set for a rehearsal, he strode 
on the stage and expressed his unqualified 
disapproval of it. 

"'This is the last scene in the piece/' 
he said, angrily, to the studio hand who w;js 
putting the finishing touches to the setting, 
' and it ought to be the best. As it is, it'll 
ruin the show ! J 

11 * Don't you worry about that, sir/ came 
the gruff reply, * The show '11 be ruined long 
before that I ' " 

Model of a scene in Sir James BarriftfciplaVpqy 





MtHMgBM «(^|M «««hpyw* «^M^ ~-\ 






THIS story was constructed by me 
from details given by a person 
named Smith, Christian name John, 
a returned South African. Hypno- 
tizing me on several occasions in the veranda 
of a South Coast hotel, he told me the story 
of his life in a backward and forward manner, 
which story was in the main the story of the 
woman who had made him and brought him 
prosperity. I am telling the story for the 
sake of the question that forms its title, 
leaving the answer to you. 

Mr. Smith was born at Barking of middle- 
class parents, and went to work at an early 
age as assistant to a grocer ; his business was 
to carry out parcels, and he was happy 
because he had no ambitions, and being, of 
a timorous natqre kept clear of disturbances 
and all conflict with authority. He was of 
the type that never rises much and rarely 
falls, and he might have been carrying parcels 
in Barking to this day had not Providence 
intervened in the form of swollen glands. 
Providence hjts all sorts of ways in its dealings 
with men, and one of its main businesses is 
the alteration of types. Smith left to him- 
self would have died as he was made — only 
older ; the swollen glands intervened. He 
was ordered to " live in the country," and 
the order coinciding with the requirements 
of a handy boy by his mother's half -brother, 
a small farmer in Essex, John was withdrawn 
from the grocery business and packed off 
by rail to Braintree, unresisting and blind 
to the Fates that were moving him as a cat 
in a basket. 

Amber was the name of the farmer, and 


his farm was situated five miles from the 
town, and he took to John at first sight and 
promised to make a man of him. He dealt 
in pigs and horses, buying up scarecrows and 
fattening them and faking them and selling 
them in Braintree market at five hundred 
per cent, profit. He taught John how to 
ride, the mysteries of scab in sheep, the 
intricacies of " botts," pig-lore, and how to 
deal with Government inspectors ; and so 
things went on for five happy and uneventful 
years, John swelling like a turnip and evolv- 
ing into a, fairly good-looking young man of 
twenty-three years, dressed in leggings, fresh 
of face, accepting everything that came to 
him, and promising to go on living just as 
he was, at one-pound-ten a week, till death 
culled him in the form of old age. 
. Providence had decided otherwise. 

One summer Sunday afternoon, in a field 
two miles from Braintree, a girl saved his 
life from a bull. He was crossing the field, 
when he suddenly discovered that the bull 
had taken a fancy to him. A noise like the 
snort of a trombone made him turn. 

Then he ran. 

He made for the nearest hedge, where a 
girl in a light summer dress and shaded by a 
w r hite parasol was sitting enjoying the beauty 
of the scenery. She rose up as the runners 
approached her, saw clearly that John would 
lose by a few yards, and intervened, helping 
him over tho gate ia the hedge and leaving 
the bull with a white parosol on his horns. 

I -So 

Was She ? 

" She intervened, helping him over the gate in the hedge 

John was shaking, but she was almost 
undisturbed. She was one of those people 
who seem absolutely devoid of fear or sense 
of danger, a mentality indicative of courage 
in its highest power, or simply complete want 
of imagination — who can tell ? But she was 
distressed for tier parasol. It had cost her 
seven- and -elevenpence at Blott and Blott's, 
and she said so, 

John said he would buy her another, and 
she did not refuse the otter, being a sensible 
and business-like person, and they walked 
back to Brain tree, where he left her at her 
door — 7, Miranda Terrace — with the per- 
mission to call upon her on the Sunday 
following with the new parasol. Her name 
was Mary Jane Summers, That was the 
beginning of John's love affair, if you can 
call it his. 

It lasted two years, and then, an uncle 
dying and leaving her five hundred pounds, 
Miss Summers came to the decision that it 

had lasted long enough. She determined to 
marry John. She feared the future no more 
than she had feared the bull ; she had made 
her plans, and when she exhibited them they 
disclosed that plain common sense which is 
better than beauty and maybe rarer. She 
had determined that they must emigrate to 
South Africa. Five hundred pounds was of 
no use in England even in those days when 
the best butter was a shilling a pound, cattle 
food procurable, and the wages of a horseman 
fifteen shillings a week, She had worked 
everything out in her head : the wages he 
was receiving from his relation, the surety 
that there was no prospect of their being 
raised beyond a certain low level, the fact 
that he was worth much more than he was 
getting, the fact that lie was not likely to 
get it in, England, and the fact that he was 
likely to get it in South Africa, She had 
absorbed a good deail of information about 

the p^imv ewhtv^fwh: fflijwrt^" Hvfa * in 

H. de Vere Stacpoole 


and leaving the bull with a white parasol on his horns/' 

Durban. She wrote to the cousin and got a 
satisfactory reply. 

John, when all these things were disclosed 
to him, was astonished. He was of the type 
that never suspects it is being swindled till 
its pocket-book is gone. He looked on 
Amber as a benefactor. He was worth, 
taking his energy, sobriety, and general 
reliability into consideration, a hundred a 
year more to Amber than Amber was paying 
him. Yet he looked on Amber as a bene- 

He was astonished to find that he was 
worth more than he fancied himself to be 
worth, that England was worked out, that 
the colonies were the only places where a 
man of energy and small means might find a 
certain livelihood and maybe a fortune. 

She showed him all this. 

He drew back at first, timid at the prospect 
of snch a plunge : but she had no fear. Then 
he consented, aod she arranged about their 

marriage. They would get married without 
the least show or expense, and the African 
expedition would serve for a honeymoon ; 
her trousseau would be of the simplest. She 
gave details. She had studied the climate 
of South Africa and taken the conditions of 
life there on a farm on the veldt into her 
consideration when thinking out the trous- 
seau. Though money was desperately essen- 
tial and none too plentiful, she determined 
not to be married a? a registrar's office but 
" respectably " in a church, John, who cared 
nothing for convention, was in favour of the 
registrar's, but she had an eye to the future 
and the foundation of a family, and she was 
determined that to begin well was every- 
thing ; she intended to build high, to be 
wealthy some day, and to reach great levels 
of Respectability, and a hole-and-corner 
marriage was no foundation for that design* 
She made John buy a frouk-coat and a pair 
of lavender trousers for the occasion, price 


Was She ? 

in those days four-pounds-ten, and after t^e 
marriage she arranged a small reception at 
her mother's house, 7, Miranda Terrace, 
where a number of highly respectable people 
gathered and gave them a send-off. The 
result, foreseen by this Bismarck in petti- 
coats, was the feeling common to them both, 
that they had begun well and had already 
risen in the scale of life. 

She had arranged the marriage to coincide 
with the sailing of the Triton, on which she 
had booked their passage second-class, and 
they left Braintree tfce same day for South- 
ampton, where they spent the night at the 
best hotel, embarking next morning and 
sailing the same evening for a new world. 


SHE was very sea -sick, for, though sea-sick- 
ness is mostly a malady of the mind, even 
common sense cannot prevent it. She 
was ill for a week, and during that week John, 
who was a born sailor, was left to drift alone 
amongst the passengers. When she came on 
deck she found John in a corner with several 
evil-looking yegg- men secretly playing cards. 

She pounced. 

" How much have you lost ? " said she. 

" 1 haven't lost," replied John. " I've 
won two-pounds-ten." 

" Then put it in your pocket and come 
along with fne," she replied. 

The sons of Israel showed fight. She faced 
them fearlessly, just as she had faced the 
bull, threatened them with the " Captain," 
and took John off, just as she might have 
taken a purse. Then she extracted the two- 
pounds- ten from him and put it in her pocket. 

He played cards no more on that ship for 
the very good reason that she kept an eye 
on him. Also no one would play with a 
man with such a wife. Other wives with 
husbands on board respected her, and she 
made several friends of returning South 
Africans, who turned up useful enough when 
they got to Durban and were on the look-out 
for cheap rooms. 

At Durban she accompanied John to the 
office of Mr. Goldberg, to whom she had 
been recommended by her cousin. 

Goldberg was a land agent and knew all 
about South African farming that was to 
be known. He sat in an office with maps 
behind him on the wall. His hair was as 
black as ebony shavings and as oily as Satan's 
palm. He wore gold pince-nez, and had a 
thick voice ; also a big diamond ring. 

Mrs. Smith sat and looked at Goldberg 
and listened whilst John told of his require- 
ments, and she picked up quite a lot of 
information whilst Goldberg talked, also she 
came to the conclusion that she did not 
trust him, and that his fine office and 

diamond ring were indicative of a wealth to 
which she did not care to add her contribu- 

She was absolutely ignorant of the South 
African worjd— of any world, indeed, beyond 
the world contained in a five-mile radius of 
Braintree, but her common sense warned 
her, and she took John off, promising to 
think things over and call another day. 

Next morning they left for Johannesburg, 
following a lead given to her by one of the 
friends she had picked up on the Triton, 
and here with the help of an hotel-keeper, 
and without paying agent's fees, they picked 
up some land away north near a place called 
Rupertsburg — if I remember the name 

These were the days before the Boer War, 
and there was more game about then, in- 
cluding big beasts, to say nothing of pythons ; 
but Mrs. Smith had no fear of danger, and 
five miles north-west of the little town of 
Rupertsburg they took up their quarters in 
an old farmhouse set in an infinity of sun- 
shine and silence, and no sooner had they 
settled down " than Mrs. Smith discovered 
they had made a mistake. It had not been 
her deal ; John had insisted on being master 
for once and had closed on the place, f 
think it was ostriches he intended to grow ; 
at all events, the place was not suitable, and 
they only stayed there six months, moving 
back south and making a small fortune in a 
way that has nothing to do with this story, 
which is entirely concerned with the character 
of Mrs. Smith. 

Having discovered communications diffi- 
cult, labour unsatisfactory, locusts frequent, 
droughts a matter of course, and a python 
in possession of the stable, she did not 
complain, never once said " I told you so," 
but just settled down to make the best of it. 

The python sitting like a demon on its 
clutch of eggs — it was hatching — did not 
daunt her. She supervised the shooting of 
it, had the eggs destroyed, and ordered the 
place to be cleaned. Acting on the advice 
of female friends, she always went about 
with a revolver strapped to her belt, and the 
Kaffirs, after one week of her management, 
were different Kaffirs from what they had 
been, and called her " Baas " mentally if not 
vocally. She was sunburnt, she wore a 
short skirt, her sleeves rolled up, and a 
revolver at her belt ; yet she was just the 
same individual as the girl who had sat 
beneath the hedge that summer Sunday 
afternoon in the field near Braintree, just as 
womanly, as decided, as brave and common- 

In a fortnight, working the unfortunate 
Kaffirs as whitewashes, carpenters, roof- 
menders, and housemaids, she had the place 
in order and fit to be lived in. 

H. de Vere Stacpoole 


Sometimes she would go to the little town 
five miles away to purchase things at the 
store run by a German named Bloom. A 
German of the old type, spectacles and all 
complete, a philosophical man who came to 
have a high respect for this customer, a 
respect based on the wisdom exhibited by her 
orders. The Boer farmers' wives used to 
buy in small quantities, either from niggardli- 
ness or a dislike of spending too much money 
at one time, or some more recondite reason, 
but Mrs. Smith bought in bulk, and so saved 
journeys and the risk of disappointment, and 
paid on the nail and so got a discount. 

So things went on, the monotony varied by 
the coming of a flight of locusts and by a 
thunderstorm that sounded exactly like the 
end of the world, in the middle of which, 
whilst John was remembering past sins 
and putting up silent prayers, Mrs. Smith 
was putting out tubs to catch the rain- 

The next incident after that was the saving 
of John's life from an ostrich* 

Now, ostrich farming sounds safe and easy 
work, but in reality it is equivalent to the 
tending of buff Orpingtons by a man seven 
inches high ; it is sometimes free from danger, 
and sometimes it isn't. 

Hailed from the house by the cry of " Baas ! 
Baas 1 " she rushed out to find John on the 
ground, an ostrich dancing on him, and the 
Kaffirs looking on. She saved the situation 
by her pluck and with the revolver. 

" Lord, you have the pluck ! " said John 
one day when he was convalescing. 

He was about right. Nothing could 
frighten this woman — and yet one day it 
came about that she was frightened, badly 
frightened, and it came about in this wise. 


ONE morning John saddled his horse 
and rode off to the little town on some 
business or another, leaving Mrs. Smith 
alone ; the Kaffirs were away on some other 
business, and she was alone, quite alone in 
the house in the middle of that burning and 
windless solitude stretching from where you 
please to Bechuanaland 

She was engaged in dusting, and in an 
irritable mood. There was one insoluble 
problem always being set for Mrs. Smith by 
this old farmhouse, the problem of " Where 
does the dust come from ? " It seemed to 
blow in when there was no wind, and when 
there was a wind it blew in worse. It 
settled on everything in an equitable manner : 
on the kitchen table and the crockery dogs — 
wedding presents conveyed unsmashed seven 
thousand miles — on the pie in course of 
construction and when cooked, on the plates 
on the dresser, on the dresser, on the milk- 

pan and the milk in the pan. Dust had 
always been her enemy, it was one of the 
few things that could put her out, and this 
morning as she dusted the crockery dogs 
she was put out, and she could not swear. 
When women learn to swear man and other 
animals will undoubtedly have an easier 
time and spring cleanings be robbed of much 
of their misery. Swearing being impossible, 
she went on with her work with increased 
energy, and was just finishing off the left- 
hand crockery dog when a sound from out- 
side told her that someone was at the back 
door. She thought it was one of the Kaffirs, 
and cried " Come in," got no response, left 
her dusting, crossed the kitchen, and, duster 
in hand, opened the door. 

Standing full fronting her was a lion ! 

The African lions, says an old natural 
historian, are of two races — one yellowish, 
the other brown ; whilst the Dutch colonists 
speak of the blue and black kinds. 

This was neither a blue nor a black lion, 
nor exactly yellow nor brown. Sandy- 
coloured, perhaps, a male, and very large ; 
dusty, too, from its travels ; and never, 
perhaps, had the essential male and the 
essential female met so squarely face to face 
and so suddenly as when they stood now 
facing one another across the door-sill. 

But Mrs. Smith knew nothing of essential 
males or females and little of lions. She 
had seen pictures of them in her school- 
books, and on a visit to London she had 
seen the lions in Trafalgar Square. She had 
a vague idea that lions eat people, and that 
constituted her whole knowledge of the most 
formidable of the species Felidce. 

What she saw now recalled nothing of all 
that. She saw before her a large, honest- 
looking, and rather foolish face, fuzzy and 
bearded, amber-eyed, dusty, and completing, 
as only an intruding male could complete, 
the sum of her irritation that had been 
growing all the morning. 

She hit the face with her duster and said 
" Scat ! " 

Then, as it ambled off, she saw the tufted 
tail, and the whole figure called up in her 
mind the word " lion." 

She closed the door and bolted it, and 
went on with her work with a better heart. 
Her irritation was somehow relieved. She 
had almost sworn, for one thing, and the 
lion had given her something to think about 
other than dust and pie-making. 

She thought quite a lot about lions as 
she put the duster aside and began the 
preparations for dinner. She remembered 
the tales about their eating people, and came 
to the swift conclusion — leaving out man- 
eaters — that lions are harmless. 

The thing had Lnapircd no fear in her mind, 
that logical mind which derived perhaps 

I8 4 

Was She ? 

She hit the face with her cluster and said ' Scat ! ' 

half its inspiration from instinct. She was 
not frightened by the business, but she was 
still to be badly frightened. In w + hat way \ 


JOHN that morning, having ridden into 
the town. ca)lc<i at Bloom's store, and 
founli 1 ' fehe German hIM-Mb shirt-sleeves 

H. De Vere Stacpoole 


undoing parcels that had just arrived by 
ox-wagon. - - - - - - 

John had been - commissioned to buy- 
pepper and tin-tacks, and/Bloom, the univer- 
sal provider, looking at the piece of paper 
on which Mrs. Smith had written her require- 
ments, noted the amount of pepper required — . 
one pound. 

" She says she doesn't always want to be 
sending in for things/' said John, " and it's 
better to have enough to start with." 

"She's a sensible woman," said Bloom. 

" These Dutch fraus dey break a plate 

and send tome for one plate, break another 
and send to me for another, and zo dey go 
on, journeys all the time and waste of time, , 
and zo it goes on— as if they lift round the 
corner to send, and not miles away. Now, 
what I say is, a woman's house ought to be 
her store, everyding to hand and enoujgh of 

it. These Dutch fraus they send to 

me for half a pound of washing-soda, please, 
Mr. Bloom* Mrs. Smith she orders a stone. 

" Well, now, dis pepper, I haff only a 
pound m the establishment, but she is wel- 
come to haff — desfc are the din-tacks. Vill 
you not join me in a glass of VaAderhum ? " 

John did— and with the parcels in his 
pocket and the Vanderhum in his veins 
mounted his horse and 4 started back for home 
in an optimistic mood that included himself 
and the world and the awful desolation of the 
sun-smitten landscape. » 

;. Arrived at the fapn, he stabled his horse 
and nibbed- it. down \ then he entered the 
house, where Mrs. Smith was taking the pie 
from the oven. The dinner- table was laid 
?ind thev sat down, John putting the pepper 
and tacks oh the dresser and giving details 
of his journey, voluble for once in his life 
owing to the Vanderhum. 

' Towards the close of the meal Mrs. Smith, 
remembering the lion and managing to get 
in a word, said : — 

" Oh, 1 forgot to tell you, a lion has 

John dropped his knife and fork. 

" Great Scot, Mary, what are you saying ? 
-r-a lion has been — when ? " 
*-" He came to the back door, and I opened 

h" You did ? Opened it ? A lion ? What 
did you do ? " 

" Nothing/' 

" Nothing ? " 

" I didn't know what it was for a minute, 
knd I hit it with the duster, and it went 

i4 Hit it with the duster — a lion ! " 

" Oh, go on with your dinner — I'm in a 
hurry to clear up, There was no harm in 
the thing, I could, tell that at a glance." 

" But where did it go "to — didn't you 
look ? " 

" Lord bless the man, what do you think 
my time's worth with all the things I have 
to do ? It went round the corner of the 
house, and I shut the door. It's far enough 
by this, I expect." 

" There's no knowing," said John. " it's 
ten to one it will come back, at night most 

He finished his meal and went off to the 
stable, where he had some carpentering work 
on hand. 

„ He had been working an hour or so and 
was putting down his saw to wipe his brow, 
when a scream from the house made him 
fting the saw aside and rush to the door. 

IT Jwas his wife's voice and she was screaming 
for help. 

The door of the house was open — he 
had left it open — the lion had come back 
^nd it had got her. There could be no 
doubt of that. 

For one terrific instant John stood para- 
lysed. Love on one side of him, Death on 
the other. He was a timorous man, and to 
enter that house and front a lion, one had to 
b£ as brave as a lion. 

;In the beat of a pendulum and as the past 
comes to the drowning, his whole past. stood 
before him in one picture. The bull she 
had saved him from — the ostrich. Then, 
just as though her splendid character and 
courage had been injected into his mind by 
a squirt, he sprang to the house-door. 

The living-room was empty, the bedroom 
door open. He picked up his gun that was 
standing by the wall and rushed to the bed- 
room door. 

Mrs. Smith, wide-eyed and pale of face, 
was standing on the bed, and in the corner 
of the room opposite her was crpuched the 
enemy, bright-eyed and long-tailed, and 
evidently preparing for a rush, 

HALF an hour later John, on a per- 
spiring horse, drew up at Bloom's store 
- and, leaving the horse tethered to the 
postr entered. 

"'My wife wants six mouse-traps," said 

"~Six ? " said Bloom. " Zo — ah, well, she's 
a sensible woman." 

by Google ^* 

Original from 

1 86 



A valued correspondent in the United States 
recently asked me if I could give him a solution to the 
following problem : To place two rooks, two knights 

two bishops, the king, and the queen on the chess- 
board so that all the unoccupied squares are attacked 
and all the pieces are guarded. *' Somebody in this 
country/* he adds t ** has obtained a solution with the 
exception that the king and the queen are not guarded/' 
He gives no clue as to the author, and does not state 
whether the idea] solution is known to be obtainable, 
1 sent him my own solution, as above, which it will 
be seen equals the American one, the king and the queen 
alone being unprotected by another piece ; but I also 
gave him a solution in which only one of the eight 
pieces is unguarded. Can the reader do this, or find 
an ideal arrangement with every piece guarded by 

another ? 

536.-DIVIDING BY 37- 

I want to know whether the number 49,120,308,213 
is exactly divisible by 37, or, ii not, what is the remainder 
when so divided* How may I do this quite easily 
without any process of actual division whatever t It 
can be done by inspection in a few seconds — it you 

know how. 


Here is a little 
puzzle that the 
reader will pro- 
bably think he 
has solved at 
almost the first 
glance. But will 
he be correct? 
Swastikaland is 
divided into 
counties in the 
ler shown i 

Maps was ordered so to colour this map of the 
country that there should be a different colour on 
each side of every boundary- line. What was the 
smallest possible number of colours that he required? 

538.— A DEAL IN EGGS, 
A H>t:L try- farmer recently sold his stock of eggs 
in the following manner : To his first customer he sold 
one-half of his stock and half an egg ; to the second 
customer he sold one- third of the remainder and a third 
of an egg ; to the third customer he sold a quarter of 
what remained and a quarter of an egg ; and to the 
last man he sold one-fifth of what was left and a fifth 
of an egg + All these sales were by the exact dozen, 
at the rate of five shillings per dozen eggs. Then 
he disposed of the remainder in thirteen s. at five 
shillings for every thirteen eggs. What is the smallest 
possible number of eggs he could have sold, and what 
sum did he receive for them ? Of course, as in all 
such dealings with eggs, not a single egg was broken, 


A CORRESPONDENT kindly gives me the name ol a 
hamlet in Lincolnshire composed of thirteen letters — 
all different . That is to say, it contains just halt the 
letters of the complete alphabet. Can the reader find 
this hamlet, or, better, discover some other word 
containing thirteen letters all different ? Is there such 
an English word in existence* apart from place-names ? 

Solutions to Last Month a Puzzles, 

[f the distances between the cottages are as follows t 
in the order given, any distance from one mile up to 
twenty inclusive may be found as from one cottage 
to another : I, 9, 2, 3. 3, 3 miles round the circular 

It appears that the lady was buying fancy pastries 
at a con I ert ioner's. Three 5it 4d. and four at 3d. 
would be two shillings, and she placed a florin on the 
counter in payment. Four at 4 d * and three at 3d. 
would, of course, cost another penny. If the purchase 
had not been under one guinea, the answer three at 
14s. 4d + and four at 14s. 3d., with a £5 -piece tendered 
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March, 1921 


by Google 

Original from 

The horse reared, wrenched the trap out of the ditch, and at that moment 


Raphael Phare. 

The whim that had led her to 

motor to this infinitely remote 
hamlet of the moors had expired after five 
minutes' examination of its lonely bleakness. 
The big and slightly furtive fellow who kept 
the only shop had then given her a long list 

freshment, and she had 

been forced to fall back 

on a glass of vitiated ginger-ale and a 

bag of biscuits. She left the shop quickly 

because, as she to id herself, the big man 

made her gJfiWfta] T?'n minutes after she had 

do iftfefa »tar w again - 



Gemma i truck the man who had stepped on to the footboard/ 1 ' 






her hand already on the starting gear, and a 
great satisfaction that she could get away 
from this gloomy place so easily arid quickly 
in her heart. 

It was then she found a man standing 
beside her on the footboard. 

He was a genial young man, with an easy, 
mundane, almost indolent air \ the sort of 
neat and perfect young man who seems to be 

Vol Uu-13 

bred exclusively for social decoration and 
the accomplishment of much jazz. Gemma's 
first decisions about Mm were : {i) that his 
smart clothes clashed with the scenery ; 
(2} that he had managed to materialize from 
nowhere in particular with an astonishing 
adroitness and silence. 

He seemed to understand her thoughts 
as h|4f>Jfttif<^|1^0f^ smiling in 



an amiable and polite way. And he 
said : — 

" Sony to butt in on yon, an' all that, but 
really, could you give me a lift ? I'd be 
enormously obliged, you know." 

Gemma was perfectly willing to give him a 
lift, but his arrival was so unexpected she 
could only say : — 

" oh — oh, how much — that is, how far ? " 

" About thirtv or forty miles — p'haps 

Gemma stared at him. 

"Why, that would be farther than 
Martindayle ! " she cried. 

" No, not farther," he smiled back. 
" Martindayle's the place. But " 

HE seemed to be regarding Gemma with 
a rather intelligent attention. She felt 
abruptly that the decorative air was not 
all of him. There was something else under- 
neath, something that was alert and firm and 
rather forceful. She saw, too, that his hand- 
someness had a lean and capable air, and 
that under cover of his social smile the eyes 
were curiously level and shrewd. She said, 
quickly, her vivid and gallant little face 
blushing under his scrutiny : — 

" That's all right. I'll take vou to Martin- 

" Awful, sorry to have to ask you," he 
said ; and again he said, " but " 

" No need for sorrow," she told him. 
" I'm going to Martindayle." 

" It's that ' but,' " he said, his smile full of 
social friendliness. " It's — er — it's rather 

" I know the road," said Gemma. 

" I mean it's dangerous." Gemma stared 
at him, wondering whether this was some 
curious form of humour. He smiled at her 
with the utmost good feeling. " I mean — 
well, you know, half an hour ago a man was 
shooting at me with a revolver, and before 
that a large fellow did his best to get me with 
his knife." 

- Gemma stared, too astonished to be any- 
thing but bewildered. He went on, "Of 
course, it's more than likely to happen again 
between here and Martindayle — yes, any 
number of times." 

41 Shooting at you ? " gasped Gemma. 

" And other things. It's awful mean to 
drag you in, but — but what am I to do ? " 
Again Gemma could only stare at the pleasant 
and apparently unperturbed face. 

" Of course I can say ' In the name of the 
law,' and so on ; but to a girl like you " 

" The law ! " cried Gemma, her hazel eyes 
widening. " Are vou connected with the 
law ? " 

" Well, yes," began the young man. 
Then he stopped. " Sorry — just a jiffy," 
he said. He slipped from the car with a 

curious smooth swiftness, went across the 
street with an indolence that was markedly 
rapid, and confronted the large, shifty 'man 
of the general shop. 

The large, shifty man had been acting in a 
strange manner. He had stolen cautiously 
to his doorway. Crouching behind what 
cover he could find, he was furtively watch- 
ing the young man. As* the young man 
crossed the road he drew back as though he 
would fly, then he decided to be bold. The 
young man stepped up to him — and amazing 
things happened. 

In a flash the large, shifty shopman had 
snatched some sort of club from under his 
apron. He swung it viciously to strike the 
young man down. And the young man hit 
him. The young man, without losing for a 
moment his air of sunny casualness, slipped in 
under that swiping club, and his right hand 
drove in at the large body. The big man 
staggered and mowed wildly with his left 
arm, the other shifted lightly on his feet, his 
left elbow came back, and he snapped a 
beautifully-timed punch to the gross jaw. 
The large shifty man hit his own floor-boards 
with a final bump, and the young man did 
not cease behaving in a strange fashion. He 
stepped over the prostrate shopkeeper and 
entered the shop. He crossed it calmly, and 
in the most unruffled manner proceeded to 
smash the telephone into a most decisive 
wreck. Then he walked bacfk to the motor- 
car and the astonished Gemma. 

" That's the sort of thing. I mean," he said, 
smiling, as though continuing a conversation 
but slightly interrupted. " Only it won't be 
a club ; it'll probably be pistols or guns." 

" You mean — men will try to kill you 
between here and Martindayle ? " she gasped. 

" That's it," he smiled. * M And you'd be 
dragged into it." 

■• But— but " she cried. " It doesn't 

sound real ! " 

"Oh, it is. Really it's quite logical. If 
they don't stop my getting to Martindayle, 
then some of those men will be hanged. It's 
really only business for them to out me." 

" Get in ! " cried Gemma. " Get in 
quickly ! I'll take you to Martindayle. I 
drove a car in France, you know," she 
added. " Being shot at won't be altogether 
novel." Her hand went out, and under its 
touch the great car began to vibrate with 
awakened life. 

At that moment a motor-cycle came snort- 
ing into the village behind them. It rushed 
half-way down the street. It stopped with 
a jerk. Its rider sprang from it, stared for 
an instant at the young man on the foot- 
board, and then his hand snatched at his 
pocket. The young man on the footboard 
sprang into the car. He cried, " Get goin^, 

^WwSft^TfeieWGfflT"^- Bebi,ld 

W. Douglas Newton 


them the motor-cyclist had whipped his 
hand from his pocket, and in it was a pistol. 
He was firing at them. Gemma saw three 
flecks of dust leap up from the roadway in 
front, heard something hit the back of the 
motor with a loud whack. She spun the car 
round on to a side road, where the houses 
would cut off the line of fire. 


THE great car lunged with its pulsing 
speed up the side road. Gemma had 
opened out, and they were covering the 
ground in giant leaps. 

Gemma, her firm little wrists resolutely 
controlling the kicking wheel, her eyes 
bright and keen with excitement, was con- 
scious that the genial young man by her 
side was kneeling on the seat, but it was 
only when she heard the " snap-snap-snap " 
of an automatic pistol that she realized he 
was quite sedately firing at the cyclist. 

They kicked and roared downward through 
a cutting. The young man sat down ; he 
leant across so that his shoulder touched 
hers ; she could feel the warmth of his face 
on her neck as he said into her ear : — 

" Missed the beggar. Pace and bumps 
against fine shooting. 'Fraid he's off to 
rouse the clans." 

Gemma shouted back : — 

" No matter. We're off the main road. 
We can make Martindayle by side roads — 
get round behind them. This road leads to a 
little place called Gricton. There axe several 
tracks there by which we can dodge them." 

" Oh," shouted the young man, " he'll 
telephone to Gricton." He had a map on 
his knee by now. His finger traced the route 
of the motor-cyclist to a house. " He's 
making for that ; he'll send out a general 
S.O.S. from there." 

Gemma slowed in order to get some ink- 
ling of the rather amazing facts this cool 
young man was suggesting. 

" But Gricton — one of the last villages on 
earth ? " she cried. 

" Oh, they're in Gricton," he answered. 

" Are they everywhere, then ? " she cried, 

" They are. They're all round this dis- 
trict." In her amazement Gemma slowed 
the great car to a walk. 

" What are we up against — an army ? " 
she demanded. 

His eyes were examining her with intelli- 
gent appraisement, his lips smiling pleasantly 
all the while. 

" Something like that," he said. " The 
biggest criminal 'organization in modern 
times, anyhow. He pointed to his map ; 
near the hamlet, Merrivale, they had just 
left, there were some markings in pen and 
ink. " That's the headquarters of the gang. 

It's an old munition factory, in which some 
sort of modern industry is supposed to be 
carried on. It's merely a sort of base and 
clearing-house of the gang. In all the vil- 
lages within easy radius of it are members of 
the gang, most of them covering up their 
real activities in the manner of that fatted 
shopkeeper I have just been brusque with. 
That is why I wrecked his telephone, not 
because I wanted to stop a general alarm — 
that's already gone out — but to cover up my 
line of flight. That wretched motor-cyclist 
has upset things properly. The whole dis- 
trict will be jumping with rogues. We've 
got to run through a regular barrage of 'em. 
All we can do now is dodge." 

Gemma, who had been looking at the map 
in off moments from steering, said : — 

41 And we will dodge ! Look, by taking 
to the moor, we can cut across to the little 
lane there which meanders eastward. It 
crosses the main road to Martindayle at a 
lonely place — I remember it — and there it 
is wandering south and east. We can get 
under Martindayle from the east by taking 
one of that network of side rpads. That will 
fool them. They'll get information that we 
are running west through Gricton. They'll 
never dream we've taken to the moors and 
doubled on our tracks." 

" Can you get across the moors ? " 

" It's bumpy, but it's feasible ; anyhow, 
it is a chance to fool your gang, and, yes, it's 
not a bad alternative to being shot at." 

The young man, after examining the map, 
let out a vivid laugh. 

" I really was lucky to meet you. You 
seem to be quite the right sort of person to 
encounter in a crisis. You're " 

" Hold tight," cried Gemma. " This is 
where the bumps begin. I'm going to turn 
on to the moor." 

With a long, slithering double leap the 
great car was on the grassy flats of the open 
moor. They had to go forward at reduced 
speed, and even at that they were tossed 
about on the padded seat as though they 
were in a row-boat on a lopping sea. It was 
a risky and tossing run, in which breath 
was held too often to enable conversations 
to be kept up. 

But though they did not speak, each was 
acutely conscious of the other. Gemma was 
realizing the clean, lean, good looks and the 
astonishing capacity of the apparently indo- 
lent young man at her side. The young man 
at her side had very little to do but to enjoy 
the exquisite outline of her delicate and yet 
gallant little profile, her warm and generous 
lips, exquisitely lined, the soft eyes with their 
entrancing lashes, and the irreverently- 
tipped but wholly adorable little nose. A 
very absorbing delicious, and vital face — his 

tim HlfflVER5lf s P ellt MICHIGAN 



The young man on the lootboard cried : l Get going, quick ! ' Behind them the motor- 

Presently they came to the fillet of the 
by-lane, and hart to dodge about to find a 
cart- ramp across the evil little ditch. They 
came on one suddenly, and with a brilliant 
dexterity that made him cry out in admira- 
tion Gemma brought the great car in a 
sweeping double turn on to the roadway. In 
a rush of miles they sprang along this, the 
great engine purring and lilting in a song of 
speed. Through little coppices and over 
and down easy hills, by bleak houses and 
amid empty plains of grass they rocked and 
swung, cur veil and flowed onward at a glory 
of pace. Standing things blurred under the 
ey^s as they rushed upon and by them. 
They could hear the wind throating over the 
shield with a roar almost a~s deep as the song 
of the cylinders. Then : — 

' Beyond that copse, down -hi 11, is the 
place where we cross the Martindayle road + 
Shall we stop ? " shouted Gemma, 

" We'll stop/' said the young man. 

" Field-glasses in the pocket beside you," 
said Gemma. 

Ai I was lucky to meet yon ! " laughed the 
young man again. They reached the trees, 
the girl slipped the car well into the shade, 
and then they were both out among the trees 
looking down at the broad band of road that 
ran along the floor of the valley just beneath 

*' Our lane crosses there, you see," pointed 
Gemma, t4 and climbs and turns " 

" Our friends, I think," said the young 
man, pointing to the north. Gemma saw a 
big car travelling at no very great pace along 
the Martindayle road- It was coming towards 
them, making apparently for Marti nd ay te. 
The young man was already examining 
it careful I v through the field-glasses. He 

W. Douglas Newton 



cyclist was firing. Gemma heard something hit the back of the motor with a loud whack/' 

The great car came with an almost painful 
slowness along the main road. The five men 
In it were sparing no pains, and their careful 
search had a terrible suggestion of efficiency 
in it. Although Gemma and the young man 
were weU hidden by the trees and bushes, the 
girl had a nervous feeling that she must 
appear as large and as palpable as a giant 
advertisement* She stirred as though to get 
back deeper into cover. 

" Don't move/' said the young man. 

They can't see us as we are, but any move- 
ment shows up astonishingly. Can't help 
admiring their thoroughness, can one ? 
They leave absolutely nothing to chance — 
that's the military training in 'em." 

" Military training ? Are they " 

" Oh, a collection of redoubtable bad hats 
an' so on, many of 'em having seen service. 
The whole thing is organized on military 
lines, a most wonderful business, as rotten as 

things can be, but running on clockwork. 
That's why it's so formidable. That's why 
it must be smashed. But they aren't 
Johnnies to be careless with." 

The car crawled with its painful care along 
the main road. As Gemma watched it she 
felt growing within her a terror that seemed 
to keep pace in expansion with the slow move- 
ment of the car. It was a terror she would 
not have felt if she had dashed hot- blood ed 
into an excitement of danger, but this cold- 
hearted, calculated procedure made her crawl 
with fear. Her breath caught, she looked 
away, anywhere rather than watch that 
creeping motor-car* She found she was 
looking into the eyes of the young man* 

There was an immense reassurance in the 
candid, friendly imperturbability of his blue 
eyes. He looked into hers and smiled. He 
put out his hand anil rested it on hers. 

" MjftffTOITTfr I^Gto ^- '" But ' 1 



say, you have got tremendous grit." A 
touch of immense stimulation, words im- 
mensely encouraging. Gemma smiled and 
felt much better at once. Then the young 
man said, " I say, will you take charge of 
these two books ? " He dipped into a big 
pocket inside his coat, brought out two small 
but fat ledgers, which had, apparently, been 
at one time locked, but now had their locks 
burst off. Gemma looked at him. " This 
is the evidence — names, details of plunder, 
amounts, notes of the different coups — in 
fact, all the facts to smash that gang are in 
those two books. Get them into the hands 
of the police somehow. Say Raphael Phare ' 
gave them to you. But whatever you do, 
don't let those blackguards get 'em back. 
Make a getaway while I hold 'em off. Dash 
straight down this road and past their car, 
which will be standing still — that would be 
the best, while I'm making 'em chase me 
across the moors, I mean." 

Gemma stared down at the fateful books 
in her hand, up to his face again. 

" But why — why " 

The young man smiled, slipped his pistol 
out of his pocket, and put in a full clip of 
cartridges. Gemma followed his gaze down- 

The big car had stopped. It had stopped 
at the crossing where their own road cut 
across. Even as she looked two men 
jumped out. 


GEMMA felt her heart beating suffo- 
catingly in her throat. The sight of 
those men getting out of the car, look- 
ing uphill in their direction, seemed to make 
every nerve in her body scream. The young 
man was saying : — 

" Creep back now. You'll know when to 
start when you hear the shooting. I'll strike 
across the moor to the left there, where the 
ground dips, and they'll be cut off by the hill 
from sight of the lane. When you hear me 
fire the whole of my clip without pausing, let 
her rip." He glanced down at the high road 
again. " But, I say, one moment." 

The men who had jumped from the car 
were behaving strangely. They had looked 
up the hill, but they made no attempt to 
come up the lane. Instead, they bent down 
examining the ground with a most intent 

" Looking for tyre tracks," said Raphael 
Phare. " They are just making certain that 
a car has not crossed or turned into the road 
from this lane. They don't really know 
what has happened to us yet. They are 
only taking just ordinary, businesslike pre- 
cautions. Admirable scoundrels, eh ? I 
thought so — they are oft to the next lane. 
Good job we hadn't crossed." 

Even as he was speaking the two men had 

returned to the big car, it had started, and 
once more it crept down the main road, the 
two men with the field-glasses examining 
every inch of the countryside as it went. 
Gemma and Raphael Phare waited until it 
was well round a bend. Raphael Phare held 
aloft a damp finger, and with a " Wind in 
our favour ; they won't hear us ; let her 
go ! " they started on their headlong rush 
down-hill. In ten minutes they were across 
the main road, tearing at a quite reckless 
speed over the dangerously uneven track 
that would bring them round under Martin-^ 
dayle from the east instead of the west. 

Raphael Phare, with the map on his knees, 
was studying their route. Presently, when 
the road got a trifle better, and human inter- 
course was more possible, he drew attention 
to a small collection of spots clustered about 
their path. 

" We overlooked that little one, I fear," he 

" Greenwark," she answered, after a dart- 
ing glance. " Just a collection of houses, 
that's all." 

" A little more than that," he said, evenly. 

4i The innkeeper and his male staff " 

" Even there ! " she cried. And then, " I 
can take to the moors again." 

" No good," he answered. " We're in the 
elbow of that idiot stream, the Reedburn ; 
there are no bridges, and we can't ford it. 
We'll have to risk it." 

" There's a nasty double turn in Green- 
wark, and that will make us go slow." 

" Well, I hope they haven't been 'phoned.'* 
" Why should they be 'phoned— or rather, 
why should they expect us to head in this 
direction ? " 

" They'll be ready for us heading in any 
direction. By this time, too, they'll have 
known we haven't arrived in Gricton. That'll 
tell them we've doubled back somewhere. 
So a general warning will be flashed to all the 
villages to be ready for us." 

" A general warning — all the villages ! " 
cried Gemma. " It sounds incredible." 

" Sounds like a ' movie ' scheme of things, 
doesn't it ? Only I'm afraid it's true. You 
see, it is a beast of a big gang, something 
quite amazingly widespread in its organiza- 
tion. It — but I had better give you the 
whole facts." 

" Ought you ? " she cried ; for, after all, 
she knew his work was official, and therefore 
probably secret. 

" It's the least I can do," he cried, and she 
knew he was smiling, felt the friendliness of 
him against her shoulder. " And then — if 
you know, it may be helpful." 

" Oh, I want to know — if I may." 
" Well, perhaps you've noticed there has 
been a rash of big robberies in the last six 
months, The Kendal IBank robbery of 

W. Douglas Newton 


twenty thousand pounds was one of them. 
That time when the biggest jewellers in 
Nottingham were cleared from strong-room 
to attic was another. Then there were the 
big goods robberies from the railway-sheds at 
Hullampton, and the warehouse burglaries 
in a score of manufacturing towns. 
There's the widespread forgery of notes, 
too — all that sort of thing. There were worse 
things — the Gold Shipment robbery had a 
murder, in it, and so did the raid on the 
Preston pay-roll ; there have, in fact, been 
a number of very ugly happenings. And — I 
won't bore you with all the details — I, that is 
we, gradually became certain that the whole 
of these crimes could be grouped together. 
They had a certain method that indicated — 
well, one gang as the author of the lot. That 
is the theorv I have been working on for some 

" You working on it ? " said Gemma, for 
he seemed to her so utterly unlike any detec- 
tive she had ever heard or read of. 

" Yes ; crime's my regular work. I'm a 
detective. Found I had a gift for that sort 
of thing when I was on the Intelligence in 
France. But this business: I —followed 
out my theory, and presently I found I was 
right. There was a big gang, a tremendously 
big gang, at work. I found heaps of clues 
that led me up to Merrivale, to get the facts/' 
" By yourself ? " 

" Couldn't show a crowd, you know. With 
scoundrels in every one of these villages we 
had to tread after the manner of the delicate 
Agag. And my going there wasn't so diffi- 
cult. I turned up as a factory inspector, 
took a room, and in the most casual way 
began to inspect. You see, that big factory 
is -a very good camouflage. There's quite a 
lot of legitimate work going on there. Elec- 
trical fittings».&nd fixtures and any amount 
of small things in brass and metals are made 
there. Real work to cover up the coming 
and going of lorries with plunder, and the 
use of the sheds as storage, as well as an 
excuse for keeping any number of men about. 
In a general sense, that big factory is what 
I said it was, a G.H.Q. The chief brains, a 
real sort of headquarter staff, live there and 
plan robberies for all over the country. They 
plan long and well. The men in the factory 
go to wherever the burglary is to be. The 
thing is pulled off. They get the stuff 
secretly by lorries to this place, and from 
there it is cleared gradually and carefully 
throughout not merely this country but 
the world. It really is a gigantic and beauti- 
fully systematized organization — burglary 
carried on in the joint-stock manner. The 
men grouped in the villages about are there 
for definite ends. They are workers with 
the gang, they act as spies and guards, they 
help to put plunder into circulation through 

their shops — notes, for example, or jewellery 
that has been broken up and then redesigned, 
and so on. Oh, it's an elaborate and beauti- 
ful and dangerous concern, I can assure you." 

" And you went into that lions' den alone 
— and beat them ! " 

*' Well, yes, I did. I spent best part of 
a week poking round. That wasn't really 
hard. You see, my casual and decorative 
air convinced 'em I couldn't possibly be 
dangerous — they thought I was some ass of 
a relative of a Minister who had been pushed 
into a cushy inspector's job. There you 
are, then. I wandered about an' found out 
what I wanted — the place where these books 
were kept. It was a-sort of secret office, and 
so I went along and gelignited the safe and 
got the books. I had to run for it, but I had 
fixed up a hiding-place, and I was able to 
spend an hour or so going into those books. 
They made me understand how anxious the 
gang would be to get me. They form a 
complete case." 

Gemma interrupted him. 
• " Do you think these people in front 
belong to the gang ? " 


THEIR rush had now carried them to 
the outskirts of the village of Green- 
wark. The street narrowed to the dan- 
gerous turn, and in the narrowest part of the 
street three men and a trap were doing 
strange things. The horse in the trap was 
backing and sidling all over the place. The 
men appeared in difficulties, but one glance 
at them showed that they were not really in 
difficulties, showed why Gemma had felt 
they might be enemies. It was not the horse 
that was restive, the driver was the man 
responsible for his antics, though he was 
covering up his manner of handling the reins 
cunningly. Just when the motor slowed 
and came upon them the crisis was reached. 
The trap swung broadside to the road, its 
wheels went bump into the ditch, the whole 
concern stopped, completely blocking the 

The men sprang from the trap, apparently 
saw the motor for the first time, and came 
towards it with anxiously waving hands. 

" Can you stop your car, sir ? " cried one 
man. " That old horse is frightened o' 
motors." Another man came forward and 
stood by the car on Gemma's side. 

" Go back, my friends, and swing youi 
horse round," said Raphael. " We'll get 
by." The man who had spoken hesitated. 
His hand went down to his pocket. Raphael 
passed what she afterwards found to be a 
life preserver into Gemma's hand. He did 
it secretly. He said to the man, " I say, is 
this right for Ma>rtmdayle ? I'm rather in a 




The man stepped close up to the car, his 
hand definitely to his pocket. The man 
next Gemma moved up to the splash-board, 
(lemma being a mere girl, he kept his eyes 
mainly oil Raphael. 

" Oh, you're goin' to Martindayle, are 
vou ? " growled the first feilow. And he 
stopped growling. He was looking down 
the barrel of Raphael's automatic. He made 
a. spasmodic movement, turned, ran, plucked 
out his pistol, fired it wildly. Raphael fired, 
and he went down. The horse reared at the 
shot, wrenched the trap out of the ditch, 
turned, and tore down the village street, 
knocking over the man who stood by its 
head- At that moment Gemma struck the 
man at her side. The man at her side had 
been foolish* He had stepped on to the foot- 
board and made a hinge at Raphael, a lunge 
that was too late as well as too short. He 
had ignored Gemma. Gemma felt her heart 
sick, but she slipped tier arm free in a flash, 
lifted it, and brought the preserver down. 
It was not a decisive blow, but the preserver 
was weighted with lead. The man went 
limp over the steering wheel, Gemma was 
staring, half sobbing, when Raphael tossed 
the unconscious figure out of the car and 
with a firm grasp brought Gemma's hands 
to the wheel. She understood at once* 
They went through the difficult village of 
Green war k perilously but safely. 

NOW, obviously, it was a race against 
enemies, a race in which their op- 
ponents must be tricked and baffled 
if they were to get through at all. The 
man who had been knocked down had 
risen and run off almost at once. He 
would give the general alarm. They 
dodged and doubled along -the roads. At 
a junction, instead of striking .east and 
south towards Mart inda vie, they whipped 
north and west again. They curved round 
at racing speed until they had circled their 
own track. They crossed the Marti ndayle 
road above their old crossing, and, taking 
wildly to the bumpy moor p pushed to the side 
lanes of the west. 

They saw men moving after them* The 
country was quick with them, They would 
api>ear in the distance, and they would shout 
and shoot. Once a motor-cyclist swept 
round a bend upon them. He yelled at thr 
sight of them, tried to check his machine. 
They could see his frantic anxiety. Gemma's 
hand had flashed to the brake, for the lane 
was narrow. Raphael snatched it away. 
With an exquisite touch he deflected the 
great car on to the cyclist, Their mud- 
guards touched him r and man and machine 
were flung terribly into the hedge. 

Again, on a broad stretch of road a great 
car came roaring after them. They knew of 

it by the sudden 1 whipping of a bullet over 
their heads. A second came, clipping the 
brass of the wind-screen, starring the glass r 
Raphael was up at once> and firing back. 
He didn't kill anything, as he said, but he 
made them shaky. Bullets whistled by, 
well out of range. As he fired lie yelled , " A 
Rolls-Royce — can you beat it ? " 

No ! " she shouted back. They swept on p 
thundering at an almost maniac rush of 
speed ; the great car behind creeping up, 
creeping up. It overtook them relentlessly. 
Raphael crouched, steadying his pistol. 
Abruptly he loosed the whole of a clip. He 
paused, looking back* Gemma was aware of 
a definite cessation of noise, Raphael slipped 
down beside her. 

fl In the radiator, everv one. That settles 
them: 1 

They passed through a hamlet, where a 
man flung a small barrel across their path, 
and missed by a fraction. " That's K a fu- 
sing," cried Gemma. Raphael examined the 
map. " Nearly home ! " he cried* " Another 
fifteen miles only to Martindayle/' 

They swept on. They kept to the main 
road now, risking all. Down out of the 
village and away they rushed, through a 
bunch of trees that went by in a haze and 
a roar, twisted, straightened, leaped with a 
stride on to open and wild country— and 
Gemma shouted. 

She shouted and grabbed at the brakes, 
and was too late, On the road, across the 
road, lay a number of planks, and in the 
planks were nails. The tyres took them, 
whipped them up* There were ghastly 
noises of brake and shattering metal and 
expiring tyres. The great car lurched and 
heaved, staggered across the road, slid with 
a sickening: crash into the high bank. 

At that moment men on the farther side 
of the road began shooting. 

Raphael dragged Gemma out of the car. 
urged her up the bank. He turned and fired 
twice. A man toppled out of the gorse acrcss 
the road, fell floundering down the bank to 
the road H Raphael fired again, turned, anil 
his powerful arm practically lifted the slight 
girl up the bank and into the scrub beyond- 
They dived into the bushes, keeping low. 

A man ran out of the gorse across the rcoch 
"Raphael fired, and the man scuttled back. 
They wormed and dodged through the spnib. 
Out of the bush before them a man started 
up, shouted, and fired. Raphael dived for 
him, crashed into his middle fists and head 
and shoulders* striking sick** ^ the 

friol went down. He *~ fell 

Raphael Phare struck * 
of his pistol, and T KCV 

going on, bd^^^ r \ U V 

thenuM ■Halfronn lj;|r '' 



W. Douglas Newton 


" Raphael urged Gemma up the bank. He turned and fired twice. A man fell floundering 

down ,he bank to ,he fMERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



cartridges in the man's coat. Thus, 
when they heard men tearing through the 
bushes behind them, both fired, Gemma 
imitating the slight sweeping movement of 
Raphael's hands. They heard a scream and 
the crash of a heavy body into the scrub, and 
then a man running back. 

On the road they heard the roar and rush 
of a hurtling car. There was shouting, and 
the car stopped ; they heard the bustle of 
men piling out. A voice shouted, " They're 
lower down the road; lower down. This way; 
come on ! " They heard the stamping of 
feet going in the direction of Martindayle. 
They immediately turned and worked back 
along their tracks. 

Gemma followed the lithe young man as 
he moved swiftly, showing not a sign of 
himself. She noted that he was moving in 
the direction of the road. Behind them they 
could hear the movements of men beating a 
way through the bashes. It was getting 
distant. There were no shouts. They pressed 
towards the road. Gemma wondered what 
this nimble-witted young man was up to. 
She soon saw. 

. They came to the road. On the road was 
the figure of the man who had been shot. 
There was their wrecked car. Almost along- 
side their car was a big motor ; its engine 
was running, and it was empty. Its chauf- 
feur was up on the bank, pistol in hand, 
staring under his palm over the bushes, fol- 
lowing the movements of his brother rogues. 
He was in an excellent position to reach his 
car at a bound. He was in an excellent 
position for Raphael to reach him. The 
young man touched Gemma's hand, and she 
remained quiet in the bushes, and in a 
moment he was gone. There was not a sound, 
not a sign. Suddenly his lean figure shot out 
of the scrub and on to the chauffeur. There 
was a swinging and terrible blow, and the 
fellow went down. Gemma reached the car 
only a second after Raphael. They clambered 
into it. They started it. They slipped down 
the road, well under the bank. They gathered 
speed. Suddenly a man sprang into view, 
shouted, and fireii. They opened out, rushed 
towards Martindayle at top speed. 

Three miles on, they met a motor-wagonette. 
It was full of policemen. They had had word, 
of course, of Raphael Fhare's dangerous mis- 
sion to the munition factory, and, having had 
the report that there were strange happenings 
and shooting in that district, they had put 
two and two together and sent a good force 
out along the Martindayle road. 

Raphael Fhare immediately joined them. 
Gemma was sent back with a policeman in 
the car they had commandeered, with in- 
structions to send more policemen, and to 
carry the secret books to quarters where 
immediate action could be taken on the 

information they contained. It was a part- 
ing as hurried as had been the meeting. 
And yet there was something more in it — a 
lifetime of emotions seemed to have been 
packed into their short companionship. She 
saw him go, and she knew an acute anxiety 
that he should be going back to that factory, 
to that gang of criminals, to danger — per- 
haps to death. She felt that for one so 
young, so clever, so good-looking to go back 
to death was terrible. And — and she wanted 
to know so much about him. So, as the car 
started, she ran beside it and put out her 
hand and cried : — 

" Come back — come back ! " And both 
of them looked, for one of those moments 
that seem to be made up of eternities, into 
each other's eyes, and their hands gripped 
hard and lingered in the grip. And he 
smiled back at her, his old genial, assured 

HE came to her house in two days. She 
rose from her chair in the big drawing- 
room and went towards him, smiling 
and blushing. 

" You came through — splendid I And you 
beat them ? " 

" We've smashed 'em. We've got three 
of the leaders of the headquarter staff, so to 
speak ; three are dead, and the other two 
we'll catch all right, I fancy. Those books 
help us. As for the rest of the gang " 

"Three killed ! " she cried, her breath 
catching. " There was a fight ? " 

'• An episode," he smiled. *' It began by 
wanting to be a fight. They thought a mere 
wagonette-load of police was a, smait proposi- 
tion. But when policemen in cars began to 
•arrive from all points of the compass it 
became a mere scramble. They scrambled. 
We've got most of them and all the loot and 
all the plans. And what we haven't got 
we'll clear up easily enough. That gang's 
done for." 

" And all through you ! " she cried, her 
face bright. 

" I think you had quite a lot to do with 
it, too," he smiled back. 

" Me ! " she breathed—" me ! And that 
reminds me — you've found me. And I didn't 
even tell you my name." 

" I know it now," he said. " It's the 
jolliest land of name." 

" Is it ? " 

" Gemma," he said. " Plucky, delicious 
little Gemma." He walked to her and stood 

" How — how did you find out how to— to 
find me ? " she said," softly. 

" Detecting," he said, " is my job. Any 

detective can find anything if — — " 
» If ? » 

" If he wants it as hard as I want Gemma." 
UNU thol I T Ur MIL Hit: AN 


♦ [ forrhL 



This article was written by Sir A. Conan Doyle before actual photo- 
graphs of fairies were known to exist. His departure for Australia 
prevented him from revising the article in the new light which has so 
strikingly strengthened his case. We are glad to be able to set before 
our readers two new fairy photographs, taken by the same girls, but 
of more recent date than those which created so much discussion 
when they were published in our Christmas number, and of even 
greater interest and importance. They speak for themselves. 

WE are accustomed to the idea of 
amphibious creatures who may 
dwell unseen and unknown in the 
depths of the waters, and then 
some day be spied sunning themselves upon 
a sandbank, whence they slip into the unseen 
once more. If such appearances were rare, 
and if it should so happen that some saw 
them more clearly than others, then a very 
pretty controversy would arise, for the 
sceptics would say, with every show of reason, 
" Our experience is that only land creatures 
live on the land, and we utterly refuse to 
believe in things which slip in and out of the 
water ; if you will demonstrate them to us 
we will begin to consider the question." 
Faced by so reasonable an opposition, the 
others could only mutter that they had seen 
them with their own eyes, but that they 
could not command their movements. The 
sceptics would hold the field. 

Something of the sort may exist in our 
psychic arrangements. One can well imagine 
that there is a dividing line, like the water 
edge, this line depending upon what we 
vaguely call a higher rate of vibrations. 
Taking the vibration theory as a working 
hypothesis, one could conceive that by raising 

Copyright, 1921, by 

or lowering them, creatures could move from 
one side to the other of this line of material 
visibility, as the tortoise moves from the 
water to the land, returning for refuge to 
invisibility as the reptile scuttles back to the 
surf. This, of course, is supposition, but 
intelligent supposition based on the available 
evidence is the pioneer of science, and it may 
be that the actual solution will be found in 
this direction. I am alluding now, not to 
spirit return, where seventy 4 years of close 
observation has given us some sort of 
certain and definite laws, but rather to those 
fairy and phantom phenomena which have 
been endorsed by so many ages, and still 
even in these material days seem to break 
into some lives in the most unexpected 

Victorian science would have left the 
world hard and clean and bare, like a land- 
scape in the moon ; but this science is in 
truth but a littlQ light in the darkness, and 
outside that limited circle of definite know- 
ledge we see the loom and shadow of gigantic 
and fantastic possibilities around us, throw- 
ing themselves continually across our con- 
sciousness in such wayii that it is difficult to 


A. Conan Doyle. 


The Evidence for Fairies 


There is much curious evidence of varying 
value concerning these borderland forms, 
which come or go either in fact or imagina-* 
tion — the latter most frequently, no doubt. 
And yet there remains a residue which, by 
all human standards, should point to occa- 
sional fact. Lest I should be too diffuse, I 
limit myself in this essay to the fairies, and 
passing all the age-long tradition, which is 
so universal and consistent, come down to 
some modern instances which make one feel 
that this world is very much more complex 
than we had imagined, and that there may 
be upon its surface some very strange neigh- 
bours who will open up inconceivable lines 
of science for our posterity, especially if it 
should be made easier for them, by sympathy 
or other help, to emerge from the deep and 
manifest upon the margin. 

Taking a large number of cases which lie 
before me, there are two points which are 
common to nearly all of them. One is that 
children claim to see these creatures far more 
frequently than adults. This may possibly 
come from greater sensitiveness of appre- 
hension, or it may depend upon these little 
entities having less fear of molestation from 
the children. The other is, that more cases 
are recorded in which they have been seen 
in the still, shimmering hours of a very hot 
day than at any other time. " The action 
of the sun upon the brain," says the sceptic. 
Possibly — and also possibly not. If it were 
a question of raising the slower vibration 
of our surroundings one could imagine that 
still, silent heat would be the very condition 
which might favour such a change. What 
is the mirage of the desert ? What is that 
scene of hills and lakes which a whole cara- 
van can see while it faces in a direction where 
for a thousand miles of desert there is neither 
hill nor lake, nor any cloud or moisture to 
produce refraction ? I can ask the question, 
but I do not venture to give an answer. It 
is clearly a phenomenon which is not to be 
confused with the erect or often inverted 
image which is seen in a land of clouds and 
of moisture. 

If the confidence of children can be gained 
and they are led to speak freely, it is sur- 
prising how many claim to have seen fairies. 
My younger family consists of two little boys 
and oae small girl, very truthful children, 
each of whom tells with detail the exact 
circumstances and appearance of the crea- 
ture^ To each it happened only once, and 
in each case it was a single little figure, twee 
in the garden, once in the nursery. Inquiry 
among friends shows that many children 
have had the same experience, but they close 
up at once when met by ridicule and in- 
credulity. Sometimes the shapes are unlike 

those which they would have gathered from 
picture-books. " Fairies are like nuts and 
moss," sa'ys one child in Lady Glenconner's 
charming study of family life. My own 
children differ in the height of the creatures, 
which may well vary, but in their dress they 
are certainly not unlike the conventional 
idea, which, after all, may also be the true 


There are many people who have a recol- 
lection of these experiences of their youth, 
and try afterwards to explain them away on 
material grounds which do not seem adequate 
or reasonable. Thus in his excellent book 
on folk-lore, the Rev. S. Baring-Gould gives 
us a personal experience which illustrates 
several Qi the points already mentioned. 
" In the year 1838," he says, " when I was a 
small boy of four years old, we were driving 
to Montpelier on a hot summer day over the 
long straight road that traverses a pebble 
and rubble strewn plain on which grows 
nothing save a few aromatic herbs. I was 
sitting on the box with my father when, to 
my great surprise, I saw legions of dwarfs of 
about two feet high running along beside the 
horses ; some sat laughing on the pole, some 
were scrambling up the harness to get on the 
backs of the horses.. I remarked to my 
father what I saw, when he abruptly stopped 
the carriage and put me inside beside my 
mother, where, the conveyance being closed, 
I was out of the sun. The effect was that, 
little by little, the host of imps diminished 
in number till they disappeared altogether." 

Here, certainly, the advocates of sunstroke 
have a strong, though by no means a final, 
case. Mr. Baring-Gould's next illustration is 
a sounder one. 

" 'When my wife was a girl of fifteen," he 
says, " she was walking down a lane in York- 
shire, between green hedges, when she saw 
seated in one of the privet hedges a little 
green man, perfectly well made, who looked 
at her with his beady black eyes. He was 
about a foot or fifteen inches high. She was 
so frightened that she ran home. She 
remembers that it was a summer day/' 

A girl of fifteen is old enough to be a good 
witness, and her flight and the clear detail of 
her memory point to a real experience. 
Again we have the suggestion of a hot day. 

Baring-Gould has yet a third case. " One 
day a son of mine," he says, " was sent into 
the garden to pick pea-pods for the cook to 
shell for dinner. ' Presently he rushed into 
the house as white as chalk to say that while 
he was thus engaged, and standing between 
the rows of peas, he saw a little man wearing 
a red cap, a green jacket, and brown knee- 
breeches, whos^ face was old and wan, and 

who Mm WMOT M black and 

A. Conan Doyle 

20 1 


The fairy is leaping up from leaves below and hovering for a moment it 

had done so three or four times* Rising a little higher than before* Alice 

thought it would touch her face and involuntarily tossed her head back. 

Fairy is in close-fitting costume* with lavender-coloured wings. 

PWotraphed by Irj*. August 26. 1920- Copyright by E. L. Gardner. 

hard as sloes. He stared so intently at the 
boy that the latter took to his heels/' 

Here, again, the pea- pods show that it was 
summer, and probably in the heat of the 
day. Once again the detail is very exact 
and corresponds closely, as I shall presently 
show, to some independent accounts. Mr, 
Baring-Gould is inclined to put all these down 
to the heat conjuring it p the familiar pictures 
of fairy books, but some further evidence 
may cause the reader to doubt this 


Let us compare with these stories the very 
1 direct evidence of Mrs. Violet Tweed ale, 
whose courage in making public the result 

of her own remarkable psychic faculties 
should meet with recognition from every 
student of the subject. Our descendants 
will hardly realize the difficulty which now 
exists of getting first-hand evidence with 
names attached, for they will have outgrown 
the state when the cry of '* fake '* and 
" fraud " and ** dupe " is raised at once 
against any observer, however honourable 
and moderate, by people who know little or 
nothing of the subject. Mrs. Twee dale says : — 
" 1 had a wonderful little experience some 
five years ago which proved to me the exist- 
ence of fairies. One summer afternoon I was 
walking alone along the avenue of Lupton 
House, Devonshire, It was an absolutely 
still day— not a, leaf moving, and all Nature 

SM wlvfefrptf fittfer shine - A few 


The Evidence for Fairies 

yards in front of me my eye was attracted, 
by the violent movements of a single long 
blade-like leaf of a wild iris. This leaf was 
swinging and bending energetically, while 
the rest of the plant was motionless. Expect- 
ing to see a field-mouse astride it, I stepped 
very softly up to it. What was my delight 
to see a tiny green man. He was about five 
inches long, and was swinging back down- 
wards. His tiny green feet, which appeared 
to be green-booted, were crossed over the 
leaf, and his hands, raised behind his head, 
also held the blade. I had a vision of a 
merry little face and something red in the 
form of a cap on the head. For a full 
minute he remained in view, swinging on the 
leaf. Then he vanished. Since then I have 
several times seen a single leaf moving vio- 
lently while the rest of the plant remained 
motionless, but I have never again been 
able to see the cause of the movement. 

Here the dress of the fairy, green jacket 
and red cap, is exactly the same as was 
described independently by Baring-Gould's 
son, and again we have the elements of heat 
and stillness. It may be fairly answered 
that many artists have drawn the fairies in 
such a dress, and that the colours may in 
this way have been impressed upon the 
minds of both observers. In the bending 
iris we have something objective, however, 
which cannot easily be explained away as a 
cerebral hallucination, and the whole incident 
seems to me an impressive piece of evidence. 

A lady with whom I have corresponded, 
Mrs. H. f who is engaged in organizing work 
of the most responsible kind, has had an 
experience which resembles that of Mrs. 
Tweedale. " My only sight of a fairy," she 
says, " was in a large wood in West Sussex 
about nine years ago. He was a little crea- 
ture about half a foot high,. dressed in leaves. 
The remarkable thing about his face was 
that no soul looked through his eyes. He 
was playing about in long grass and flowers 
in an open space." Once again, summer is 
indicated. The length and colour of the 
creature correspond with Mrs. Tweedale's 
account, while the lack of soul in the eyes 
may be compared with the " hard " eyes 
described by young Baring-Gould. 

One of the most gifted clairvoyants in 
England was the late Mr. Turvey, of Bourne- 
mouth, , whose book, " The Beginnings of 
Seership," should be in the library of every 
student. Mr. Lonsdale, of Bournemouth, is 
also a well-known sensitive. The latter has 
given me the following account of an incident 
which he observed some years ago in the 
presence of Mr. Turvey. 


" I was sitting," says Mr. Lonsdale, " in his 
company in his garden at Branksome Park. 

We sat in a hut which had an open front 
looking on to the lawn. We had been per- 
fectly quiet for some time, neither talking nor 
moving, as was often our habit. Suddenly I 
was conscious of a movement on the edge of 
the lawn, which on that side went up to a 
grove of pine trees. Looking closely, I saw 
several little figures dressed in brown peering 
through the bushes. They remained quiet 
for a few minutes and then disappeared. In 
a few seconds a dozen or more small people 
about two feet in height, in bright clothes 
and with radiant faces, ran on to the lawn, 
dancing hither and thither. I glanced at 
Turvey to see if he saw anything, and 
whispered, ' Do you see them ? ' He nodded. 
These fairies played about, gradually ap- 
proaching the hut. One little fellow, bolder 
than the others, came to a croquet hoop 
close to the hut and, using the hoop as a 
horizontal bar, turned round and round it, 
much to our amusement. Some of the others 
watched him, while others danced about, 
not in any set dance, but seemingly moving 
in sheer joy. This continued for four or five 
minutes, when suddenly, evidently in re- 
sponse to some signal or warning from those 
dressed in brown, who had remained at the 
edge of the lawn, they all ran into the wood. 
Just then a maid appeared coming from the 
house with tea. Never was tea so unwelcome, 
as evidently its appearance was the cause of 
the disappearance of our little visitors." 
Mr. Lonsdale adds, " I have seen fairies 
several times in the New Forest, but never so 
clearly as this." Here also the scene is laid 
in the heat of a summer day, and the division 
of the fairies into two different sorts is 
remarkably borne out by the general 
descriptions. *** 

Knowing Mr. Lonsdale as I do to be a 
responsible, well-balanced, and honourable 
man, I find such evidence as this very hard 
to put to one side. Here at least the sun* 
stroke hypothesis is negatived, since both 
men sat in the shade of the hut and each 
corroborated the observation of the other. 
On the other hand, each of the men, like Mrs. 
Tweedale, was supernormal in psychic de- 
velopment, so that it might well happen that 
the maid, for example, would not have seen 
the fairies even if she had arrived earlier 
upon the scene. 

I know a gentleman belonging to one of 
the learned professions whose career as, let 
us say, a surgeon would not be helped if 
this article were to connect him with fairy 
lore. As a matter of fact, in spite of his 
solemn avocations and his practical and 
virile character, he seems to be endowed with 
that faculty — let us call it the appreciation 
of higher vibrations — which opens up so 
wonderful a door to its possessor. He claims, 
or rather he admits— ^or.he. js. reticent upon 

A. Conan Doyle 


the subject — that he has carried this power of 
perception on from childhood, and his sur- 
prise is not so much at what he sees as at the 
failure of others to see the same thing. To 
show that it is not subjective, he tells the 
story that on one occasion, while traversing 
a field, he saw a little creature which beckoned 
eagerly. that he should follow. He did so, 
and presently saw his guide pointing with an 
air of importance to the ground. There, 
between the furrows, lay a flint arrow-head, 
which he carried home with him as a souvenir 
of the adventure. 


This gentleman is further distinguished by 
having that power of attracting animals, 
even wild animals, which some people have, 
and it may be that this sympathy is the same 
quality which helps him in getting into touch 
with fairies. His account of the latter is 
extraordinarily interesting. " I should de- 
scribe them as being between two and three 
feet in height/' says he, " and dressed in 
brown clothes. The nearest approach I can 
get to them is to say that they are ' spiritual 
monkeys.' Their general instinct is to avoid 
'mankind, but they are capable individually 
of becoming extremely fond of humans — or 
of a human. They are just Peter Pans, 
children who have never grown up. Speak- 
^ ing generally, I should imagine that anyone 

*" ? who has had any truck with the fairies must 

have obeyed the Scriptural injunction to 
* become as a little child ' — i.e., he or she 
must be either a Buddha or simple." 

Another friend of mine who claims to have 
the power of seeing fairies is Mr. Tom Tyrrell, 
the famous medium, whose clairvoyance 
and general psychic gifts are of the strongest 
character. I cannot easily forget how one 
evening in a Yorkshire hotel a storm of raps, 
sounding very much as if someone were 
cracking their fingers and thumb, broke out 
around his head, and how with his coffee- 
i. cup in one hand he flapped vigorously with 

the other to warn off his inopportune visitors. 
In answer to my question about fairies he 
says, " Yes, I do see these little pixies or 
fairies. I have seen them scores of times. 
But only in the woods and when I do a little 
fasting. They are a very real presence to 
me. What are they ? I cannot say. I can 
never get nearer to the beggars than four or 
five yards. They seem afraid of me, and 
they scamper off up the trees like squirrels. 
I dare say if I were to go in the woods 
oftener I would perhaps gain their confidence 
more. They are certainly like human beings, 
only very small, say about twelve or fifteen 
inches high. I have noticed they are brown 
in colour, with fairly large heads and stand- 
ing-up ears, out of proportion to the size of 
their bodies, and bandy legs. I am speaking 

Vol. lxi.— u 

of what I see. I have never come across 
any other clairvoyant who has seen them, 
though I have read that many do so. 
Probably they have something to do with 
Nature processes. The males have very 
short hair, and the females have rather long, 
straight hair." 

The idea that these little creatures are 
occupied in consciously furthering Nature's 
projects — very much, I suppose, as the bee 
carries pollen — is repeated by the learned 
Dr. Vanstone, who combines great know- 
ledge of theory with some considerable ex- 
perience, though a high development of 
intellect is, in spite of Swedenborg's example, 
a bar to psychic perception. This would 
show, if it is correct, that we may have to 
return to the classical conceptions of some- 
thing in the nature of naiads and fauns and 
spirits of the trees and groves. Dr. Van- 
stone, whose experiences are on the border- 
land between what is objective and what is 
sensed without being actually seen, writes 
to me : "I have been distinctly aware of 
minute intelligent beings in connection with 
the evolution of plant forces, particularly in 
certain localities, for instance in Eccles- 
bourne Glen. Pond life yields to me the 
largest and best sense of fairy life, and not 
the floral world. I may be only clothing my 
subjective consciousness with unreal objec- 
tive imaginations, but they are real to me as 
sentient, intelligent beings, able to communi- 
cate with us in varying distinctness. I am 
inclined to think that elemental beings are 
engaged, like factory hands, in facilitating 
the operation of Nature's laws." 


Another gentleman who claims to h&ve 
this most remarkable gift is Mr. Tom Char- 
man, who builds for himself a shelter in the 
New Forest and hunts for fairies as an 
etymologist would for butterflies. In answer 
to my inquiries, he tells me that the power 
of vision came to him in childhood, but left 
him for many years, varying in proportion 
with his own nearness to Nature. According 
to this seer, the creatures are of many sizes, 
varying from a few inches to several feet. 
They are male, female, and children. He 
has not heard them utter sounds, but 
believes that they do so, of finer quality than 
we can hear. They are visible by night as 
well as by day, and show small lights about 
the same size as glow-worms. They dress 
in all sorts of ways. Such is Mr. Charman's 

It is, of course, easy for us who respond 
only to the more material vibrations to 
declare that all these seers are self-deluded, 
or are the victims of some mental twist. It 
is difficult for them to defend themselves 


The Evidence for Fairies 

from such a charge. It is, however, to be 
urged upon the other, side that these numer- 
ous testimonies come : from people who are 
very solid and practical and successful in the 
affairs of life. One 'is a distinguished writer, 
another an ophthalmic authority, a third a 
successful professional man, a fourth a lady 
engaged on public service, and so on. To 
waive aside the evidence of such people on 
the ground that it does not correspond with 
our own experience is an act of mental arro- 
gance which no wise man wiH commit. 

It is interesting to compare these various 
contemporary arid first-hand accounts of 
the impressions which all these witnesses 
have received. I have already pointed out 
that the higher vibrations which we associate 
with hot sunshine, and which we actually 
seem to see in the shimmer of noontide, is 
associated with many of the episodes. 
Apart from this it must be admitted that the 
evidence is on the whole irregular. We have 
creatures described which range from five 
inches to two and a half feet. An advocate 
of the fairies might say that, since the 
tradition has always been that they procreate 
as human beings do, we are dealing with them 
in every stage of growth, which accounts" for 
the varying size. 


It seems to me, however, that a better case 
could be made out if it were pleaded. that 
there have always been many different races 
of fairyland, and that samples of these races 
may greatly differ from each other, and may 
inhabit varying spots ; so that an observer 
like Mr. Tyrrell, for example, may always 
have seen woodland elves, which bear no 
resemblance to gnomes or goblins. The 
monkey-like, brown-clad creatures of my 
professional friend, which were over two feet 
high, compare very closely with the creatures 
which little Baring-Gould saw climbing on 
to the horses. In both cases these taller 
fairies were reported from flat, plain-like 
locations ; while the little old - man type 
varies completely from the dancing little 
feminine elf so beloved by Shakespeare. In 
the experience of Mr. Turvey and Mr. Lons- 
dale, two different types engaged in different 
tasks were actually seen at the same moment, 
the one being bright-coloured dancing elves, 
while the other were the brown-coloured 
attendants who guarded over them. 

The claim that the fairy rings so often 
seen in meadow or marshland are caused by 
the beat of fairy feet is certainly untenable, 
as they unquestionably come from fungi such 
'as Agaricus Gambo sus or Matasmius Oreades, 
which grow from a centre, continually desert-* 
ing the exhausted ground and spreading to 
* that which is fresh. In this way a complete 

circle is formed, which may be quite small 
or may be of twelve foot diameter. These 
circles' appear just as often in woods from the 
same cause, *but are. smothered over by the 
decayed leaves- among which the fungi grow. 
But though the fairies most certainly do not 
produce the rings, it. might be asserted, and 
could not be denied, that the rings once 
formed, whatever their cause, would offer a 
very charming course for a circular ring-a-ring 
dance. Certainly from all time these circles 
have been associated with the gambols of the 
little people. 


After these modern instances one is in- 
clined to read with a little more gravity the 
accounts which our ancestors gave of these 
creatures ; for, however fanciful in parts, it 
still may have had some core of truth. I 
say " our ancestors," but as a matter of fact 
there are shepherds on the South Downs to 
this day who will throw a bit of their bread 
and cheese over their shoulders at dinner- 
time for the little folks to consume. All 
over the United Kingdom, and especially in 
Wales and in Ireland, the belief is largely^ 
held among those folks who are nearest to" 
Nature. First of all it was always supposed 
that they lived within the earth. This was 
natural enough, since a sudden disappearance 
of a solid body could only be understood in 
that way. On the whole, their description 
'was not grotesque, and fits easily into its 
place amid the exafriples already given. 
"They were of small stature," says one 
Welsh authority, quoted in Mrs. Lewes's 
■" Stranger than Fiction," " towards two feet 
in height, and their horses of the size of hares. 
Their clothes were generally white, but on 
certain occasions they have been seen dressed 
in green. Their gait was lively, and ardent 
and loving was their glance. . . . They were 
peaceful and kindly among themselves, divert- 
ing in their tricks, and charming in their 
walk and dancing." This mention of horses 
is somewhat out of the picture, but all the 
rest seems corroborative of what has already 
been stated. 

One of the best of the ancient accounts is 
that of the Rev. R. Kirk, who occupied a 
parish at Monteith, on the edge of the High- 
lands, and wrote a pamphlet called " The 
Secret Commonwealth," about the year 1680. 
He had very clear and definite ideas about 
these little creatures, and he was by no 
means a visionary, but a man of considerable 
parts, who was chosen afterwards to translate 
the Bible into Erse. His information about 
fairies tallies very well with that of the Welsh- 
man quoted above. He slips up in imagining 
that flint arrow-heads are indeed " fairy- 
bolts," but otherwise his contentions agree 
very well wiuli our mcdcm instances. They 

A, Conan Doyle 



The fairy is standing almost still, poised, on the bush- leaves. The wings were 
shot with yellow; upper part of dress very pale pink. 

Photoaraphed by Alice, Aapiit 26 h 1920. Copyrifht hf E. L Crfidne*. 

have tribes and orders, according to this 
Scotch clergyman. They eat. They con- 
verse in a thin, whistling sort of language. 
They have children, deaths, and burials. 
They are fond of frolic dancing* They have 
a regular state and polity* with rulers, laws, 
quarrels, and even battles. They are irre- 
sponsible creatures, not hostile to the human 
race unless they have reason to be angry, 
but even inclined to be helpful, since some of 
them,, the Brownies, are, by universal tradi- 
tion, ready to aid in the household work if 
the family has known how to engage their 


An exactly similar account comes from 
Ireland, though the little folk seem to have 
imbibed the spirit of the island to the extent 
of being more mercurial and irascible. There 
are many cases on record where they are 

claimed to have shown their power, and to 
have taken revenge for some slight. In the 
Larne Reporter of March 31st, i86G, as quoted 
in " True Irish Ghost Stories/' there is an 
account of how a stone which the fairies 
claimed having been built into a house, the 
inhabitants were bombarded with stones by 
invisible assailants by day and night, the 
missiles hurting no one, but causing great 
annoyance. These stories of stone-throwing 
are so common, and present such similar 
well -attested features in cases coming from 
every part of the world, that they may be 
accepted as a recognized preternatural 
phenomenon, whether it be the fairies or 
some other form of mischievous psychic force 
which cause the bombardment. The volume 
already quoted gives another remarkable 
case, where a farmer, having built a house 
upon what was really a fairy right-of-way 
betwbiyiV'fltolT'Vrt^ mounds, was 


The Evidence for Fairies 

exposed to such persecution by noises and 
other disturbances that his family was at 
last driven out, and had to take refuge in 
the smaller house which they had previously 
occupied* This story is narrated by a corre- 
spondent from Wexford, who says that he 
examined the facts himself, examined the 
deserted house, cross-examined the owner, 
and satisfied himself that there were two 
raths in the vicinity, and that the house was 
in a dead-line between them. 

I have particulars of a case in West Sussex 
which is analogous, and which I have been 
able to trace to the very lady to whom it 
happened. This lady desired to make a 
rock-garden, and for this purpose got some 
large boulders from a field hard by, which 
had always been known as the pixie stones, 
and built them into her new rockery. One 
summer evening this lady saw a tiny grey 
woman sitting on one of the boulders. The 
little creature slipped away when she knew 
that she had been observed. Several times 
she appeared upon the stones. Later the 
people in the village asked if the stones might 
be moved back to the field, " as," they said, 
" they are the pixie stones, and if they are 
moved from their place, misfortunes will 
happen in the village." The stones were 


But supposing that they actually do exist, 
what ate these creatures ? That is a subject 
upon which we can speculate only with more 
or less plausibility. Mr. David Gow, editor 
of Light and a considerable authority upon 
psychic matters, had first formed the opinion 
that they were simply ordinary human spirits, 
seen, as it were, at the wrong end of a clair- 
voyant telescope, and therefore very minute. 
A study of the detailed accounts of their 
varied experience caused him to alter his 
view, and to conclude that they are really 
life forms which have developed along some 
separate line of evolution, and which for 
some morphological reason have assumed 
human shape in the strange way in which 
Nature reproduces her types like the figures 
on the mandrake root or the frost ferns upon 
the window. 

In a remarkable book, " A Wanderer in 
the Spirit Lands," published in 1896, the 

author, Mr. Farnese, under inspiration gives 
an account of many mysteries, including 
that of fairies. -What he says fits in very 
closely with the facts that have been put 
forward, and goes beyond them. He says, 
speaking of elementals : " Some are in 
appearance like the gnomes and elves who 
are said to inhabit mountain caverns. Such, 
too, are the fairies whom men have seen in 
lonely and secluded places. Some of these 
beings are of a very low order of life, almost 
like the higher order of plants, save that they 
possess independent motion. Others are 
very lively and full of grotesque, unmeaning 
tricks. ... As nations advance and grow 
more spiritual these lower forms of life die 
out from the astral plane of that earth's 
sphere, and succeeding generations begin at 
first to doubt and then to deny that they 
ever had any existence." This is one plausible 
way of explaining the disappearance of 
the faun, the dryad, the naiad, and all the 
creatures which are alluded to with such 
familiarity in the classics of Greece and Rome. 
One may well ask what connection has this 
fairy-lore with the essays upon the fate of 
the human soul which have formed this 
series. The connection is slight and indirect, 
consisting only in the fact that anything 
which widens our conceptions of the possible, 
and shakes us out of our time-rutted lines of 
thought, helps us to regain our elasticity of 
mind, and thus to be more open to new 
philosophies. The fairy question is infinitely 
small and unimportant compared to the 
question of our own fate and that of the 
whole human race. The evidence also is 
very much less impressive, , though, as I 
trust I have shown, it is not entirely negligible. 
These creatures are in any case remote from 
us, and their existence is of little more real 
importance than that of strange animals or 
plants. At the same time, the perennial 
mystery why so many " flowers are born to 
blush unseen," and why Nature should be 
so lavish with gifts which human beings 
cannot use, would be solved if we under- 
stood that there were other orders of being 
which used the same earth and shared its 
blessings. It is at the lowest an interesting 
speculation which gives an added charm to 
the silence of the woods and the wilderness 
of the moorland. 




The Romantic life-Story ot the Great Prima-Donna, who has already 
earned over One Million Pounds by her wwMtofol tok*, 

w *sncums m next xtroffrrr s number. 

Rrown of 




ON returning to his 
one room in 
Chelsea after see- 
ing two thankless 
editors and one soulless 
publisher, Eustace Rankine 
surveyed an empty grate 
and cupboard with grave 
dissatisfaction. If those 
who should recognize high 
poetic genius with grati- 
tude and cheques did not 
do it, what wonder that 
his landlady and tradesmen in the King's 
Road were unsympathetic ? 

" I can't go on with my tragedy till I get 
something to eat," said the poet, " but how 
lucky that it is a tragedy ! If it had been a 
comedy I should have spoiled it, for I've 
been almost without food for three days. 
Oh, I am hungry ! " 

As he took a bundle of rejected manuscripts 
from his pocket and went to the table he 
observed vacancies among his sacred papers, 
for four acts of a five-act tragedy and a thick 
pile of lyrics had vanished. Before he 
■ could exclaim there was a knock at the door 
and his landlady came in. 

" My tragedy, my tragedy " cried 


" I took it," said Mrs. Jones. 

" How dare you ? " asked Eustace. " Give 
it me at once." 

" When you pay your bill," retorted Mrs. 
Jones. " I've also taken a bundle of lyrics 
and the satire on your uncle which you read 
to me." 

The poet waved his hands at her wildly. 

" Don't be so absurd, Mrs. Jones. You 
talk about money as if I made it. Do you 
think I'm the Mint ? Why don't you write 
to my uncle and send him the bills again ? " 

" No, no, Mr. Rankine, I'm not to be put 
off in that way," said Mrs. Jones. " What 
is the use of telling me he will pay when you 
have written a bitter satire on him because 
he cut off your allowance ? " 

" I'm sorry I ever showed you that satire," 
said Eustace ; " but as you are far better 

educated than any land- 
lady I ever owed money 
to, you ought to see that 
I shall some day be rich 
and successful. Have you 
anything to eat down- 
stairs ? " 

Mrs. Jones replied in 
the excellent English of a 
lady who had seen better 
days that she had plenty 
to eat downstairs, but 
that, so far as she knew, 
it would remain there. 

" And I insist on your writing something 
with money in it, Mr. Rankine." 

" What's the use of talking when I'm 
doing a great tragedy ? Have you any coal 
to spare ? " 

" Yes," said Mrs. Jones. " I have." 
" Can I have a scuttleful ? " asked Eustace, 

" No, you can't," said Mrs. Jones. " Good- 
night, Mr. Rankine. I will take great care of 
your tragedy, and the lyrics, and the satire, 
and you shall have them as soon as you pay 
your bill. If you don't I will sell them." 

" That," said Eustace with conviction, " is 
a delusion on your part, but as you won't 
give up the tragedy I wish you'd read the 
third act and tell me what you think of it." 
"I will," said Mrs. Jones, graciously. 
" And I'm going round to Mr. Johnson's 
studio to see if he has anything to eat," said 
Eustace. " If anyone calls say I'm there, 

" I will tell him," said Mrs. Jones t " that 
a poet who has lost his senses has gone to see 
an artist who never had any, and owes me 
money to this day." 

And ten minutes later Eustace, filled with 
hope, stood outside the door of Johnson's 
studio. A very rich smell of fried fish greeted 
him as he knocked and went in without 
waiting. He found five artists there. His 
heart sank, for they did not look so hungry 
as usual. 

" I say. whore's the fried fish ? " he asked, 

Copyright, 19a i, by Morley Robi 



Brown of Boomoonoomana 

" Eaten," said the artists, gloomily, 

" Then can anyone lend me half a crown ? " 

w Total remaining assets of the crowd 
threepence-ha'penny,' 1 said Johnson. 

" I've not eaten anything to speak of for 
days, and Mrs. Jones has impounded my 
tragedy and my satire on my uncle as 
security/' said Eustace. 

" Quite a remarkable woman that, but far 
too optimistic/' said Johnson- i- I owe her 
money, too, and she took seventeen pictures 
of mine as security." 

" I believe she could write satire herself/' 
said Eustace, "she seems to think any real 
artist or poet ought to starve," 

" It's a belief commonly held in the King's 
Road," said Johnson. " Now, there's that 
soulless butcher Simpson, who has not only 
refused me credit but has put a shoulder 
of mutton 1 never had in the bill." 

*' He's a very, very disagreeable man/' 
said Eustace, " I don't like him at all. 
Then he actually owes you a shoulder of 
mutton ? n 

" Obviously/' said Johnson, ".I make it 
over to you/' 

" By Jove, do you ? " asked Eustace, 
thoughtfully, M Then why should I starve 
if I own a shoulder of mutton ? " 

" The way the whole commercial -minded 
populace combines to cramp our growth and 
keep us thin is most discreditable/ 1 said 

The others agreed it was atrocious. Haw- 
kins, who did aquatints when he could afford 
the materials, urged, however, that most 
artists could easily be dispensed with! 

11 And being in a gloomy, hopeless mood," 
said Hawkins, *' I have a grave suspicion 
that four of us, including myself, 'would be 
better dead/' 

** And which two ought to live ? " asked 

" Only you and young Rankine there," 
said Hawkins, " We're fools of talent and 
yon two are geniuses." 

" Am I a genius ? " asked Rankine ; " you 
really think so ? " 

' Yes," said Hawkins, who had a passion 
for poetry, " And, of course, you will be 
starved to death. Won't it be romantic ? 
Your uncle will then regret cutting oft your 
allowance, which was partly ours, too, just 
because* you wouldn't desert Bohemia for 

11 Three groans for Rankine's uncle/' said 

And they gave Mr, Brown of Boomoonoo- 
mana three groans. 

Now for his other uncles," said Hawkins, 
" and some of ours." 

And they groaned again in chorus as 
pustace departed. 

When he got back to the King's Road the 

earlier shades of evening were falling and the 
sparkle of the tempting shops, which at a 
less hungry time might have inspired him to 
some lyrical outburst, now only caused him 
internal anguish. 

"I am v.iy hungry," said Eustace. 
" Sometimes I thought I was, but now 1 am ! 
And Hawkins said Johnson and I shouldn't 

*-*•- ~-t 

" Next moment Eustace was running 

be allowed to starve. If that jam was out- 
side 1 would steal it. My uncle in Australia 
has cut off my allowance- My uncle in the 
King's Road has my watch and sleeve-links* 
The only person who has behaved generously 
to mo is Johnson, who gave me that shoulder 
of mutton \vhich was surreptitiously intro- 
duced into his biYl. Ah, this is Simpson's 


Morlev Roberts 


Eustace saw Simpson himself holding a 
cleaver and addressing himself to duty, He 
noted everything with strange clearness, 
but nothing was so magically clear as a 
particular shoulder of mutton lianging on a 
hook in the very front of the shop* At the 
sight of it madness seized on him. He be- 
came blind to everything else. He did not 

it ? You don't 
And what the 
you jump up 

round the corner with the butcher and the constable after him/' 

even see a young athletic policeman standing 
within twenty yards, For in some strange 
way, that shoulder of mutton was obviously 

n And if his, mine ! hP said Eustace. The 
next moment he was running round the 
corner and down Church Street with the 
butcher and the constable after him, Simp- 
son ran well ; the policeman, who w^as twenty 

yards behind, ran better ; but Eustace out- 
paced the two. He made a magnificent 
effort, and in despair of catching him the 
butcher threw his cleaver and missed hi> 
mark by a hairs breadth. As the weapon 
clattered along the pavement Eustace stooped 
and picked it up and still kept ahead of 
the policeman, who had passed Simpson, As 
the flying poet was bur- 
dened with the mutton and 
the cleaver he might have 
been caught at last had lie 
not seen a motor-car, which 
was just gathering speed, 
coming along Cheyne Walk. 
With one tremendous sprint 
he ran up alongside it and 
jumped on the step, The 
chauffeur did not notice 
him, but the man inside 
leant out of the window^ as 
the shouting and the tumult 
died away in the distance. 

" Who are you ? " asked 
the man in the car. 

** My name is Rankinc," 
replied Eustace, breath- 

Pl Oh, is 
say so ! 
devil did 
here for ? 

" Because they we re after 
me/' said Eustace. 
" Who are they ? " 
,J A butcher and a police- 

" Whv were \hey after 
you ? " " 

M Because I took some- 
thing which morally be Jongs 
to me/ J said Eustace, 

Wliat was it von 
took ? " 

" A shoulder of mutton/' 
said the poet. 

M Have you got it with 
you ? " asked the other man. 
"Gh yes; rather!" 
replied Eustace. 
**•* " Then come in- 

And Eustace 
opened the door and 
got in, 

4f Sit down/' said his new friend. ** Why 
did you take this shoulder of mutton ? M 

" Because I wanted it badly/' said 

§i Why did you want it badly ? " 
" Because I am hungry," said Eustace. 
" Had you no means of getting food by 
more legitimate methods ? " 
- *| ^(j^^"^, m»^€^ Omtj.4 Volume of lyrics 


Brown of Boomoonoomana 

and a tragedy in five acts which I can't sell," 
said Eustace. 

" A tragedy in five acts ! Then you have 
no money ? " 

" I haven't," said Eustace. 

" But why not ? " 

" Because I am a poet with a cruel uncle," 
said Eustace. 

" By Jove, a cruel uncle ! I'm getting 
deeply interested," said his companion. 
" Are you a good poet ? " 

" Hawkins says I am a genius." 

" Bravo, Hawkins ! But if you are a 
genius, geniuses surely make money," said 
his friend. 

" That's where you are mistaken," replied 
Eustace, fairly groaning at human un- 
intelligence ; ,f it's because they are that they 
can't. Geniuses never make money till they 
are dead." 

" Why not ? " 

" Editors don't think they are geniuses, 
and if they did they wouldn't be. Don't 
you see that ? " 

" Not clearly, I own," said the deeply 
interested inquirer. 

" It's perfectly simple," said Eustace. 
" Genuises are poor. If editors bought 
their stuff they wouldn't be. If they sold it 
all at good prices they would be rich and 
couldn't be geniuses. That's logic." 

" I had no idea that logic was so difficult," 
said his friend. " But I suppose you mean 
that the more you have the less you are a 

" According to the principles I laid down, 
yes," said Eustace. 

" Then, as you possess a shoulder of mutton 
you are less a genius than you were. Is that 
logic ? " 

" I think there's a fallacy in it somewhere," 
said Eustace. 

" Perhaps there is, but I should like to 
know what made you think the mutton 
morally yours." 

EUSTACE told him how he had acquired 
a moral title to it from Johnson, a great 
unknown painter. 
" I see," said his friend. " The genius 
Johnson acquired a title to it and passed it 
on to you. I like the logic of the whole 
proceeding. I hope it is a good shoulder of 
mutton ? " 

" I thought so when I took it," said 
Rankine. " But I'm not a real judge of 
mutton, raw. I do so wish it was cooked." 
" How were you going to cook it ? " 
" Now you mention it I don't know," said 
Rankine. " Mrs. Jones refuses to give me 
any more coals. She is my landlady. She 
reads poetry but won't give me any more 
food, though I assure her daily that it will 
>U right in the end." 

" I see," said the other man. " Then you 
haven't paid her for your room, or your food,' 
or coals ? " 

" Not lately," said Eustace. " But, of 
course, I owe for it. ' Nothing satisfies her, 
nothing ! And now she has taken my great 
tragedy, and some lyrics, and a satire on my 
uncle who cut off my allowance, and won't 
give them up. And when I found the artists 
had eaten all the fried fish Johnson trans- 
ferred the mutton to me. The fish being 
eaten was the last straw." 

" Yet it seems to have led to a notable 
success," said his friend. 

" I don't seem to think a raw shoulder of 
mutton the success I did," said Eustace, 
mournfully, looking at the mutton. "I % 
can't eat it raw. I wonder what my uncle, 
the one I wrote my satire about, would think 
of it ? " 

" Do you mean of your stealing it, Mr. 
Rankine ? " 

" Oh, no ! Of it as mutton. He owns 
several sheep. I don't know how many. 
It does seem so unfair." 

He sighed deeply. 

" What is unfair ? " 

" That he should have several sheep and 
that I should only have part of one, and raw 
at that," said Eustace, disconsolately. 

" Why doesn't your uncle keep on helping 
you ? " 

" I can't imagine," said Eustace, " but as 
I'm his only nephew he thinks I ought to go 
to Australia. That's absurd. What would 
he think if I wrote and 'said I wanted him 
over here because he was my only uncle ? '* 

" Is he ? " asked the other. 

" No, but the logic is the same," said 
Eustace. "So he cut off my allowance, 
saying that I could help him to grow sheep 
if I liked, and that all I had to do was to go 
to some beastly office in Leaden hall .Street 
to get a passage to Sydney for nothing." 

" Well, why not ? You seem to like 

" I told him I wouldn't so much mind if 
the sheep were in London," said Eustace. 
" I even wrote and said that if he was so set 
on my having sheep, would he help me to get 
some to keep in the parks ? You may have 
noticed sheep in some of the London parks. 
I don't know how they get there or who owns 
them, but I shouldn't mind having some 
there. But he said the idea was absurd and 
if I didn't pack up and come out he would 
cut off my — my " 

" Mutton ? " said the stranger. 

" No, allowance," said Eustace, " though 
it comes to that when you think of it. And 
that's why I owe my rent and why I'm here 
in a stranger's car with a raw shoulder of 
mutton, not knowing hnw or where I shall 
cook it, And I'm sr> hungry. Have you . 

Morley Roberts 


ever been ? What's your name ? You seem 
rather nice to me considering the circum- 
stances, and I should like to khow." 

" My name's Hunt, John Hunt," said his 
friend, " and yours, you say, is Rankine. 
Do you mind telling me your Christian 
name ? " 

" It's Eustace," said the poet. 

" Eustace Rankine ! By Jove, I was 
beginning to think so," cried Mr. Hunt. 
** Eustace Rankine, the poet ! " 

" Oh, I say," cried Eustace, " you must 
have read some of my poems ! " 

" No, I never did, but I've heard of them ! 
How remarkable, but never mind. Didn't 
you ask me if I was ever hungry ? I am 

" Oh, are you ? " asked Rankine. " I say, 
you may have half the mutton if we can get 
it cooked." 

" Thanks, awfully, but I might get half 
your sentence if you got caught," said Mr. 

" Then I might get less/' said Eustace. 

" Tell me about your uncle," said Mr. 
Hunt. "What's his name ? You see, I come 
from Australia myself." 

' Do you ? Have you any sheep ? " 

" Like your uncle 1 have several," said the 
Australian. " And pray don't mind my 
being an uncle, too." 

" Oh, I say, are you ? I wish you were 
my uncle. I'm sure mine wouldn't have 
been so kind to me." 

" What is your uncle's name ? " asked Hunt. 

" Brown," said Eustace. 

" I wonder wh^t Broun," said Hunt ; 
" there are several Browns in Australia. 
What's his other name ? " 

" Thomas," said Eustace. 

" Good," said Mr. Hunt. " Thomas Brown. 
I know four. Has your uncle got a station ? " 

"Oh, no," said Eustace, " he has nothing 
to do with railways. He breeds sheep." 

" Don't you know that a station is where 
you breed them ? " 

" Is it ? It seems a queer place to do it 
in. Do you know Euston and King's Cross?" 

" Well," said Mr. Hunt. " But never 
mind them. What's the name of your 
uncle's place ? " 

" I can't spell it or pronounce it. But it's 
full of o's." 

" Are there no other letters ? " 

" Yes, m's and n's." 

" Is there a B in it ? " asked Mr. Hunt. 

" I think so," said Eustace ; " it sounds as 
if a cow lowed there." 

" Then it's Boomoonoomana," said Hunt. 

" So it is. How clever of you. Say it 

And Hunt said it again. 

" So your uncle is Thomas Brown, of 
Boomoonoomana, is he ? " 

" Yes," said Eustace. " Has he really 
any sheep to speak of ? " 

" Like me he has several," said Hunt. 
" I know him." 

" When you go back to Australia tell him 
what I think of him," said Eustace, bitterly, 
" and tell him about this shoulder of mutton. 
It might touch him on the raw, for heaven 
laiows it's so raw it has damped my trousers. 
And I do so wonder what to do with this 

" You never spoke about a cleaver," said 
Mr. Hunt. 

" I slipped the beastly greasy thing in my 
pocket and forgot it in my agitation," said 
the poet. " Just think of Shelley or Keats 
in a motor-car with a large bit of damp 
mutton and a cleaver ! " 

" Did you steal that, too ? " asked the 

" Oh, no," said Eustace. " Why should I 
steal a cleaver ? I didn't take a whole 
sheep. The butcher threw it at me in 
Church Street, and it clattered along the 
pavement and I picked it up. Shall I sling 
it out of window ? " 

" You might hit someone." 

" Very likely he would be an uncle," said 
Eustace, savagely. " Would you like it ? 
If you have several sheep it might come in 
useful ! " 

" Thanks. Give it me," said the Aus- 
tralian. " I'll find a use for it at the hotel." 

" What hotel ? " asked Eustace. 

" Mine. And you're going to it, old chap." 

"Ami? What for ? " 

Mr. Hunt clapped him on the shoulder. 

" To cook the shoulder of mutton, young 

" That's a very good idea," said Eustace. 

" I suppose you won't mind giving a 
dinner to my brother-in-law and my niece, 
as well as to me ? " he asked, as the car 
moved on. 

" I haven't any money. What do you 
mean ? " 

" You have the shoulder of mutton, 
haven't you ? " 

" Yes, I've got that, but " 

" Don't raise objections. I'll arrange it. 
My niece will be delighted. She is fond of 
poetry and will be really glad to meet you." 

"Then I don't mind meeting her," said 

" And when we get to the hotel you must 
bring in the mutton and I will carry this 
cleaver," said Mr. Hunt. 

The steps of the hotel were very full : the 
lounge was even fuller, but both became still 
more crowded as Mr. Hunt got out of his car 
carrying a large cleaver. The excitement 
grew when be w T as followed by a very tall, 
slim, and handsome young man, without a 
hat and with dishevelled hair, with a shoulder 


Brown of Boomoonoomana 

'The crowd buzzed with inquiries as to why the popular Australian millionaire had a 
cleaver, and why that handsome young fellow carried a shoulder of mutton." 

of mutton. Such a sight had rarely been 
seen in the hotel t and the porters who were 
hastening to Mr. Hunt as if they were wasps 
and he a ripe peach were paralyzed into 
momentary inaction. 

" Come, Eustace," said Mr. Hunt- 

" Shall I carry the — the cleaver for you, 
sir ? " the head porter asked in an agitated 
tone of voice. 

" Thanks, 111 carry it myself," said Hunt, 
" Do you want any assistance with the 
shoulder of mutton, Eustace ? " 

11 I think not/' said Eustace. 

" Then come on," said Hunt, and the 
crowd opened and let them through, as the 
whole assembly, forgetting what they were 
there for, buzzed with rapid inquiries as to 
why the popular Australian millionaire had 
a cleaver, and why that handsome young 
fellow, who looked so pale and intellectual — 
11 ah, and so sweet/" as many of the women 
said —carried a shoulder of mutton. Every- 
one said there must be a story attached to 
the drama, and as Hunt and Eustace entered 
the lift the guest? inside interrogated the 
porter as to_ the meaning of things, while 


waning ol 

Morley Roberts 


those outside cross-questioned the chauffeur. 
But by this time the head porter had re- 
covered himself. 

-€ It is Mr. Hunt's hobby/' he said, " He 
collects cleavers/' 

" But that doesn't explain the shoulder of 
mutton and that dear, sweet young fellow 
who looks like a poet," urged the Jady who 
had acted as spokeswoman, 

" The mutton, madam," said the head 
porter, M is probably to try the cleaver on/ 1 

And in the meantime Mr* Hunt, still 
holding the cleaver in his hand, was explaining 
in his sitting-room to a paralyzed lift-boy 
that he wanted the bead waiter. 

In less than a minute the head waiter, 

who had observed part of the proceedings 
through the key-hole p knocked at the door. 
" Did you ask for me, sir ? " he inquired. 
Mr t Hunt said he sent for him with a view 
of discovering how long it took to cook a 
shoulder of mutton at the Spitst. The head 

waiter opined that 
the general view was 
that a quarter of an 
hour to the pound 
was needed, and when 
Eustace, at Htmt's 
request, put the 
shoulder of mutton 
into the reluctant 
hands extended to 
receive it, he de- 
clared that as it 
weighed about five 
pounds it would take 
an hour and a quarter. 
Mr, Hunt considered 
this absurd. It might 
do for the Savoy or 
the Piccadilly, but 
from hh hotel he re- 
quired far greater ex- 
pedition, or he would 
leave it. The head 
waiter, recognizing 
the danger to his own 
status if this hap- 
pened, hastened to reconsider his Verdict, and 
said it should be readv under the hour- 
Very well," said^ Hunt, " There will 
lie four of us, And in the meantime, Eustace, 
are you too hungry to wait for dinner ? " 

By this time Eustace was almost too much 
confused to know if he really was hungry or 
only Suffering frum a series of internal and 
external hallucinations, 

4 I'm not quite sure/' he replied* 
* You must be hungry;" said Hunt, He 
turned to the head Waiter, "My young 
friend is a poet and has eaten nothing for 
three days. What do you do in such cases ?" 
The head waiter gasped. 
" With those who have been without food 
for three days, sir ? \\ F e— we usually give 
them in charge, sir ! JP 

" Do you hear that, Eustace ? See the 
danger you expose yourself to by this ridicu- 
lijiii habit. Shall I send for a policeman or 
some biscuits and sherry ? And in the 
meantime the mutton is being delayed," 
" ' I prefer biscuits and sherry/'said Eustace, 
When the biscuits and sherry arrived 
Eustace applied himself to them eagerly* 

" You look better already/' said Hunt, 
after a few moments, 

u I feel better/' replied Eustace, warmly. 
** Just sit tight while I go away for a 
minute/ 1 said Hunt. I must tell mv 

2I 4 

Brown of Boomoonoomana 

Presently Hunt came back. As Eustace 
turned, there stood before him the most 
wonderful vision he had ever seen in his life. 
She was slim, and tall, and gracious. Her 
name,it seemed, was peculiarly and deliriously 
romantic. It was, in fact, kitty Brown, and 
Eustace, a great student of words, saw it 
proved once more that their beauty was not 
inherent in their nature but in their happy 
accidental connotations* Till that moment 
he had hated the name of Brown and had no 
passion for Kitty, but now Brown had be- 
come absolutely beautiful and Kitty adorable 
as the sign and signal of one who might have 
fed on honey-dew and drunk the milk of 

" And this, Kitty, is Mr. Eustace Rankine 
of whom I spoke just now. By a remarkable 
coincidence I find that you have actually 
read some of his verses." 

" His poetry ! " said Kitty, reprovingly, 
and these words, and the voice which spoke 
them, finally subdued Eustace for ever. 

" This is quite, quite wonderful," said 
Kitty. " To think that I have read some 
poems of yours and that my uncle should 
have met you " 

" In a very remarkable and romantic way," 
said Hunt. 

" Is most delightful," said Kitty. 

" No doubt you two can find something 
to talk about while I go and rouse your 
dad," said Hunt. " Remember what I told 
you, Kitty." 

" Yes, uncle, but " 

" There is no ' but/ " said Hunt, as he 
closed the door. 

" Your uncle is a most remarkable man. 
Miss Brown," said Eustace, lingering on the 
rapturous monosyllable. " Isn't he ? " 

" Yes, but his sense of humour is quite 
devastating," replied Kitty. 

" Is it ? So's mine ; but somehow I don't 
feel so bitter to my Australian uncle as I 

" Have another biscuit," said Hunt, who 
caught the last words as he came in again, 
" and tell us why you don't." 

" Thanks, awfully," said Eustace. " If 
it hadn't been for him I shouldn't have met 
Mr. Hunt, for I shouldn't have " 

" Acquired a moral title to a shoulder of 
mutton," said Hunt. " Tell my niece about 
it. She is a revolutionary herself." 

" I'm glad of that," said Eustace. " Then 
she won't take the silly conventional view of 
my action. But you see, Miss Brown, that 
it was entirely due to my uncle that I stole 
the mutton at all." 

" Did you really steal it ? " asked Kitty, 
enthusiastically. " You have great social 

" Please don't exaggerate it. My view and 
Johnson's is that I didn't really steal it," said 

Eustace, modestly. #< The butcher said 
Johnson owed for it, but Johnson never had 
it at all, and he transferred it to me and I took 
it from the hook in Simpson's shop. I am 
prepared to argue for hours that I did per- 
fectly right. The only difference in the 
situation is that I now owe for it and 
Johnson doesn't." 

" Mr. Rankine also acquired this cleaver," 
said Hunt, producing it. 

" Simpson threw it at me in Church Street, 
Chelsea, and I picked it up as I ran," said 

" Like Atalanta ? " said Kitty, clapping 
her hands. 

" Ah, you know about Atalanta, do you ? " 
cried Eustace, in delight to find that some- 
one from such a wild place as Australia 
could suggest a classical simile. " Yes, like 
Atalanta, though I didn't lose the race, for, 
snatching the cleaver from the pavement, I 
leapt upon the step of Mr. Hunt's car. And 
instead of pushing me off he kindly asked me 
to come inside and was most reasonable about 
the shoulder of mutton." ± 

"I'm sure my uncle would be," said 

" Many would have taken a conventional 
view and pushed me off," said Eustace. 

" Surely not in such circumstances," said 

" Oh, yes, they would have pushed me off 
without inquiring into the circumstances/* 
said Eustace. " I believe my uncle would 
have pushed me off. Thank heaven it was 
your uncle, Miss Brown." 

" Darling uncle," said Kitty. 

" Thanks," said Hunt. 

" Until you said it," cried Eustace, " I 
couldn't have believed ' darling ' and ' uncle * 
would go together. You see, my uncle, who 
is Brown of — of — what is he Brown of, 
Mr. Hunt ? " 

" Of Boomoonoomana, Rankine." 

" Yes, of Boomoonoomana," cried 
Eustace. " Once I said it sounded like 
an excited barnyard. And Brown of 
Boomoonoomana ! Imagine a — a poet in 
such a place." 

" Some might find it hard to do so," said 
Kitty, " but why not try it for a month ? 
I like Boomoonoomana, myself." 

Eustace hastened to apologize. 
• " Oh, if you know it, it's different. Miss 
Brown. I might get to like it. What I said 
was only the reflected result of my deeply 
considered dislike of my uncle. By the way, 
is the other Mr. Brown you say is coming to 
dinner your father, Miss" Brown ? " 

" Yes," said Kitty. 

" I shall be glad to meet him," said Eustace. 
" If I meet a few more nice people from 
Australia I shall begin to think that my uncle 
may not be so bad after all." 


Morley Roberts 


AT that moment the door opened 
and Kitty's father came in. Eustace 
thought him a fine-looking man and 
almost worthy to have such a daughter. 

" Dad, dear," said Kitty, " this is the 
Mr. Eustace Rankine I spoke to you about, 
the very Mr. Rankine whose poetry I liked 
so much." 

44 I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Rankine," 
said Mr. Brown. 

44 So — so am I," said Eustace, wondering 
as he said it if that was the right way to put 
it, and making up his mind to see if it looked 
correct when written down. 

44 It seems that you and Jack Hunt ran 
across each other in a rather remarkable way. 
It was in Chelsea, wasn't it ? " asked Mr. 

** Yes, in Chelsea, at the bottom of Church 
Street, near the church," said Eustace. " I 
— I introduced myself." 

" Yes, I heard so," said Mr. Brown. 

" It was all owing to a most peculiar con- 
catenation of circumstances," said Eustace. 
" But I explained them to Mr. Hunt as we 
came along." 

4< So I understand," said Mr. Brown. " I 
hope to hear all about it presently. Hunt 
tells me your uncle is a namesake of 

" Yes, he's Brown of Boomoonoomana," 
said Eustace. "You are not any relation of 
his, Mr. Brown ? I shouldn't like to say 
anything unkind of him if you and Miss 
Brown are relations." 

" I give you my word that I'm no relation 
of his," said Mr. Brown. 

44 What do you think of him ? " asked 

■* It's difficult to say," said Mr. Brown. 
*' In fact, I hesitate to give any definite 
opinion of the man. But Hunt and my 
daughter seem to like him." 

" I see, you have suspicions as to his real 
character," said Eustace, " and though I am 
prepared to pay the greatest deference to 
anything Miss Brown says on the point, you 
can't get over the fact that he is my uncle, 
and like my other uncles cut off my allowance 
just as I was beginning to make real headway 
in my profession." 

Mr. Brown seemed shocked. 

" Do you mean to say all your other uncles 
cut you off, too ? " he asked. 

" As one man, without mercy," said 
Eustace, bitterly. 

" I believe Brown of Boomoonoomana 
was under the impression that they still 
continued their allowance," said Mr. Brown, 

" He may have said so," said Eustace, 
" but he knew better. Didn't my land- 
ladies send him their bills ? " 

" I think something of the Trind occurred," 

said Mr. Brown. " But your father's 
brothers ? " 

14 They also object to poetry and prefer 
law and politics," said Eustace. " So when 
my landladies worried me until I couldn't 
write, I said 4 Send the bills to my uncle : he 
owes me money.' And they sent them." 

44 And I begged Mr. Brown to pay them, 
Mr. Rankine," said Kitty. " Didn't I, 
father ? " 

44 You did, my dear," said her father, 
" you did ! " 

44 Oh, wasn't it awfully mean of him not 
to ? " asked Eustace, warmly. " Of course 
I wouldn't say such things of him if he was a 
relative of yours or even a friend." 

44 I don't think I'm on quite as good 
terms with him as I was," said Mr. Brown, 
somewhat uneasily, " but surely he invited 
you to Australia ? " 

" Yes, he said I was to go to 122, Leaden- 
hall Street, where they kept a ticket to 
Australia for me ; but why should I go ? If 
the Khan of Tartar y had asked me to Tartary 
and sent me a ticket I shouldn't have gone," 
said Eustace. " I was busy with my five- 
act tragedy in blank verse with lyrics in it. 
Now, do you suppose a poet could finish a 
five-act tragedy in blank verse with lyrics in 
it at a place called Boomoonoomana ? " 

44 Couldn't he ? " asked Mr. Brown, doubt- 

44 Why, of course he couldn't," said 
Eustace. " I can imagine writers of a low 
class doing comic opera there. But if I had 
written at all it would have been biting 
satire " 

41 Would it ? " asked Brown. 

44 And Brown of Boo-what's-it's-name 
would have rued the day I came," said 
Eustace. " Oh, I can write savage stuff ! 
You've no idea. I've done it. About him, 
too ! I'd like to read it you." 

AND the head waiter announced dinner 
in the adjoining room. Hunt spoke to 
him aside. 

*' Have you done as I told you ? " 

44 Yes, sir," said the head waiter. 

44 Your men don't understand English ? " 

44 Not a word, sir." 

44 And anything you hear at dinner will go 
no farther ? " 

44 Not for worlds, sir," said the head 

44 Then you will solve the mystery of the 
mutton and the cleaver," said Hunt. 

44 I shall be glad of that f sir," said the head 
waiter, with obvious relief. 

44 Your discretion will be greatly to your 
advantage," said Hunt. 

44 I shall b^ glad of that, too, sir," said the 
head waiter. 

And they &lftdttiMi> dinner. 


Brown of Boomoonoomana 

" Are you hungry, Eu — I mean Mr. 
Rankine ? " asked Mr. Brown. 

" Have you ever been without food, except 
for a biscuit, for three days ? " asked Eustace. 

" Not since my pioneering time," said 
Mr. Brown. 

" Then I have, and to-day's the third/' 
said Eustace. " And I say, wasn't it im- 
mense for my Uncle Tom to ask me to go to 
Australia, as he said, to get valuable ex- 
perience ? He seems to think valuable 
experience can only be obtained in distant 
places with ridiculous names. Let him come 
to London and try to be a poet or a painter ! 
Then he'd learn a bit. He thought he would 
lure me out there by telling me he'd starved 
in a desert and been without water for days. 
Of course, you can always get water in 
Chelsea, for there's the river, but you .can go 
without food forty days for all the tradesmen 
care. I don't believe there's a single butcher 
or grocer in the King's Road who would have 
helped Keats, or a coalman who would have 
given Shelley a scuttle of coals for his Odt to 
Night. Oh, you can have lots of experience 
and adventure in Chelsea, Mr. Brown." 

" So it appears," said Mr. Brown. " I 
don't suppose your uncle ever thought of it 
in that way." 

" He seems regrettably one-sided as regards 
sheep," said Eustace, applying himself to the 
food with great earnestness. " Is this Bur- 
gundy, Mr. Hunt ? " 

" Yes," said Hunt. 

" It is good," said Eustace, after trying it. 
" The soup is good, too." 

He also said the fish was good. 

" But I chiefly rely on the shoulder of 
mutton," said Hunt. " When that arrives 
we shall consider ourselves your guests, 

" Yes, it's really your dinner, Mr. Rankine," 
said Kitty. 

" I'm so glad you weren't shocked about 
the shoulder of mutton," said Eustace. 
" Does Mr. Brown know how I acquired it ? " 

" Do you, dad ? Did I explain it clearly ?" 
asked Kitty. 

" Your explanation was too much hurried 
to be clear/' said her father, " but I gathered 
that owing to a queer combination of cir- 
cumstances Mr. Rankine picked it up 
somewhere ! " 

" I took it from a hook in a butcher's shop 
in the King's Road," said Eustace. " I 
thought it looked good. The butcher was 
one with whom I had dealt when my uncles 
paid up. He's not a nice man. He refused 
to send his bills to Australia. So being very 
hungry " 

" Ah, here's the shoulder of mutton," said 

" I do so hope it's good and that you will 
all enjoy it," said Eustace, feeling that he 

was indeed now the host. '* Shall I go on 
with the story ? It's quite an experience." 

" Please do," said Brown. 

" You'll see that my Uncle Tom's idea that 
it would do me good to come out to New- 
South Wales and have a few experiences was 
founded on a false view of Chelsea, as I said 
before, for landladies, and coal people, and 
butchers, and grocers seem to wish to crush 
artists and poets, and are utterly, utterly 
without sympathy. So to-night, when I 
came home, I was very hungry and thought 
I would read over my tragedy to see if I 
could deepen the gloom in the fourth act." 

" Poor Mr. Rankine," said Kitty. She 
looked as if she could have pressed his hand 
if her father hadn't been there, and Eustace 
wished Mr. Brown was in Australia with his 

" But what do you think ? My landlady 
had taken it, and also a bundle of lyrics and 
my savage satire on my Uncle Tom," said 
Eustace. " And she wouldn't give them 

" Then she has a passion for poetry ? " 
asked Hunt. 

" She's quite intelligent and likes some of 
it, but she didn't take mine for that reason," 
said Eustace. " Oh, no ! It was to force 
me to write something - with money in it.' 
Those were her loathsome words. If I didn't 
I must go. I was much upset, though not 
so much as I was by my last landlady, who 
said she'd forgive me the rent if I married 

" How dreadful ! " said Kitty. 

" You would have thought so if you'd 
ever seen her," said Eustace. " I considered 
it far better to owe her the rent, so I ran 
away and went to the one who took my 
tragedy. I implored her to give it back, but 
she wouldn't. She says she'll sell it and the 
lyrics. I think she's mistaken. I can't. I 
went round to some studios and outside 
Johnson's studio I smelt fried fish, so I went 
in. BUt they had eaten it all. And we 
talked about art and the commercial system. 
And Johnson, who is an awfully clever chap, 
said that if he were I he would rob a church, 
or even a cathedral ! And they knew all 
about my uncles. And Johnson, and Haw- 
kins, who does the loveliest aquatints, called 
for groans for Mr. Brown of Boomoonoomana. 
And we all groaned him and my other uncles 
and some of theirs." 

" What a remarkable scene," said Kitty. 
" Don't you think it was, dad ? " 

" Very," said Mr. Brown. " So they 
groaned Brown of Boomoonoomana especi- 
ally, Mr. Rankine ? " 

" Most especially," said Eustace, " and 
Johnson made a lightning sketch of him as 
an ogre surrounded, by sheep but eating a 
poet — iqe, r 



Morley Roberts 


" I'll give him a fiver for that sketch," said 

" I'll tell Johnson," said Eustace. " He 
will be glad ! " 

" I thought bi buying it myself," said 
Brown, rather gloomily. " I wanted to make 
a present of it to Brown of Boomoonoo- 

" Oh, dad, did you ? " asked Kitty. 

" I think he might repent," said Brown. 
" I believe he does already." 

" Don't you believe it of him," said Eustace. 
" You don't know him as I do. And then 
Johnson said Simpson (he's the butcher) had 
put a shoulder of mutton into his bill which 
shouldn't have been there. So Johnson 
owed for what he'd never had, and he said I 
might have it, which seemed quite fair, 
though, at the time, I didn't think I should 
ever get it. But one never knows, and after 
that I went away, for the smell of the fried 
fish was maddening, and as I passed Simpson's 
shop I felt in my bones that a shoulder of 
mutton there was rightly mine, and without 
a moment's hesitation I took it down and 
ran, and they followed me shouting, and the 
butcher threw his cleaver at me and missed 
me, so I picked it up and ran all the harder, 
and just at the bottom of Church Street I 
jumped on Mr. Hunt's car and got away." 

HUNT turned to the head waiter. 
" On the sideboard in the other 
room you will find ja cleaver. Please 
bring it in." 

** Isn't it a most remarkable story, dad ? " 
asked Kitty. " J think it's wonderful." 

" It shows a certain decision of character 
not to be looked for in a poet," said 

•' It was a sudden righteous impulse," said 

" And this — this is the cleaver," said Hunt, 
as the head waiter brought it in on a silver 

" It seems a very good cleaver as cleavers 
go," said Mr, Brown. "I'm glad it missed 
you, Mr. Rankine." 

" So am I," said Eustace. " It's a good 
heavy cleaver, isn't it ? I did think of 
keeping it as a trophy, but I gave it to 
Mr. Hunt." 

" I collect them," said Hunt, gravely. 

" Kitty, my dear," said Mr. Brown, " do 
you think that Mr. Rankine's uncle is quite 
the kind of man that our young poetic friend, 
to say nothing of the artist Johnson, has 
pictured him ? " 

Eustace turned to Miss Brown, anxiously. 

" No," said Kitty, " I think Mr. Johnson 
went too far. I like Mr. Rankine's uncle 
very much." 

" Oh, do you ? " asked Eustace. " Then 
why didn't you say so before ? I Avouldn't 

have been so bitter. I would have restrained 
myself. I would not have mentioned John- 
son's view of him at all. And I do so want 
to be just. If it comes to that, I much 
prefer my Uncle Tom to both of the others. 
1 know my uncles in England. An uncle I 
only know by correspondence may be better 
than uncles I have stayed with." 

" I'm sure he's much better," said Hunt. 

" Then why didn't you say so before ? "* 
asked Eustace. " Do you like him, Mr. 
Brown ? " 

" Like him ? " said Mr. Brown. " Well, 
I get on with him, and I think he's the kind 
of man that a good many would like." 

" I love him," said Kitty. 

" I wish you had said all this at first," 
exclaimed Eustace, " then I shouldn't have 
mentioned Johnson or said a word against 
my uncle. Why, if you love him, Miss 
Brown, I'll go to 122, Leadenhall Street, to- 
morrow, early ! " 

Just at the moment that Eustace an- 
nounced his decision of sitting on the door- 
step of 122, Leadenhall Street, wherever 
Leadenhall Street might be, the head 
waiter spoke to Mr. Hunt in a low voice. 

" Indeed ! " said Hunt. " It appears that 
a policeman wishes to speak to me." 

11 A — a policeman ? Oh ! " said Kitty. 

She laid her hand on the poet's arm. 
Without a moment's hesitation he grasped 

" Have you been exceeding the speed 
limit, Jack ? " asked Mr. Brown. 

" It was I exceeded the speed limit, and I 
suppose he wants me and the mutton," said 
Eustace, gloomily. 

" Ought we to conceal it ? " whispered 

" Most of it is concealed," said Eustace. 

" Tell the constable to come in," said 

To Eustace it seemed that the constable 
looked like a man who could run a bit. 

" Well, and what is it you want, constable?" 
asked Hunt, cheerfully. 

The constable placed his helmet on a 
chair and produced a pocket-book. 

*" Mav I ask, sir, if vou are the Mr. Hunt 
with a car No. LX 55 ? " 

" I am," said Hunt. 

" Did anyone jump on the step of your 
car this evening at the bottom of Church 
Street, Chelsea, in Cheyne Walk, sir ? " 

" He did," said Hunt. 

" A very tall young man ? " 

Eustace thought he had his eye on him 
and made himself as short as possible. 

"'You are perfectly correct, constable." 

" Was he in possession of a shoulder of 
mutton and a cleaver, sir ? " 

" Both," said Hunt. 

" Did lie say anything which led you to 


Brown of Boomoonoomana 

suppose he was a butcher or the legitimate 
owner of the articles ? " 

" Oh, no ! " said Hunt. " He told us quite 
frankly that he had stolen them. Didn't he, 
Eustace ? " 

"Well," said Eustace, "I thought his 
view was that he had stolen the mutton but 
the cleaver had been given him." 

" How far did he go with you, sir ? " 
. asked the constable. 

" All the way to this hotel," said Hunt, 
" and then he disappeared in the crowd. 
But he gave me the mutton and the cleaver." 

He turned to the head waiter. 

" Give me the cleaver. Ah, this is it, 
constable ! Would you like to have it ? " 

" And the mutton, sir ? " 

11 This is it — would you like to have that, 
too ? The waiter will wrap it up for you," 
said Hunt. 

41 It's a very curious business, sir," began 
the constable. 

"So we thought," said Hunt, hastily. 
" My young friend here and I were much 
surprised. While the head waiter is wrap- 
ping up the mutton and the cleaver, will you 
have a drink, constable ? " 

" There being now no one else in the room 
I have no objection, sir," replied the con- 
stable. " But it is a very curious business, 
sir, "and " 

" Do you think any information we have 
been able to give you will lead to the arrest 
of the young man who stole the mutton ? " 
interrupted Hunt. 

" And was given the cleaver," said Eustace, 

" I don't quite know, sir," replied the 
constable, thoughtfully. " I begin to think 
I could lay my hands on him. But there 
might be circumstances " 

" There are," said Hunt, casually putting 
his hand into his pocket. 

" The young man might have been mad, 
sir," said the constable. 

" He was not. I deny it," said Eustace, 
indignantly. " He was in a state of tre- 
mendous indignation at having had nothing 
to eat for three days." 

" How natural of him," cried Kitty. 

" And yet he left the mutton behind him, 
miss," said the constable, pensively. 

" I forgot to tell you, constable, that 
pitying his condition i" arranged for him to 
have a really good dinner," said Hunt. 
" Otherwise nothing would have induced 
him to part with it, even for a moment." 

" He was a decently dressed, tall young 
man. And couldn't he run, just ! " said the 
constable, looking steadily at Eustace. " If 
I don't get him I shall have had a lot of 
trouble for nothing." 

" Your profession is an arduous one," 
said Hunt, " but you will rise in it. I admire 

the way you spotted my number. I shouldn't 
like to think I had brought you up here for 
nothing. I couldn't bear the thought. Can 
I make it up to you in any way ? " 

" There being no one else in the room you 
might, sir," said the constable. " Thank 
you, sir. The young gentleman I saw run- 
ning must have taken the mutton for a 

" A very large lark," said Hunt. 

" Good-night, sir, miss, and gentlemen," 
said the constable. 

And he withdrew to find the head waiter 

" That's a most remarkable lot of gents in 
there," he said, pointing to the door with 
his thumb. 

" All millionaires ! " said the head waiter, 

"So I thought," said the constable, con- 
scious of five Bradburys in his pocket. " Is 
the tall voting gent one ? " 

" Some day he'll be the richest of the lot," 
said the head waiter, hastily; " arid if that 
young lady in there doesn't mean to maixy 
him you can take me for shifting that shoulder 
of mutton." 

" D'ye think he could sprint a bit ? " 
asked the constable. 

" How should I know ? " asked the head 

" If ever he's in a quarter-mile and you 
know it, put your shirt on him," said the 

AS the door closed Eustace was the calmest 
j£^ person in the room, for whiler Mr. Hunt 
laughed, Kitty looked on the verge of 
tears, and Mr. Brown kept opening his 
mouth as if about to say something, and 
said nothing after all. 

"I'm sure that policeman knew me," 
said Eustace. 

" He admired your running no end," 
gurgled Kitty's uncle. 

" I always could run," said Eustace, 
modestly, " but I do wonder if I ought to go 
back to Chelsea now. I wouldn't lose my 
tragedy for anything, and I don't know 
where I shall sleep." 

" You mustn't risk it, Mr. — Mr. Rankine," 
said Kitty. 

"I'll get you a room here, my boy," said 
Mr. Brown. 

" You are good to me," said Eustace. 

" And I'll get your tragedy for you to- 
morrow," said Hunt, " vour comedy deserves 

Eustace beamed on him. 

" That is good of you. I do wish you were 
all gohtg to Australia at once. I shall miss 
you so ! " 

" No, you won't, my boy," said Mr. Brown. 
" We're coming inili you/' 


Morley Roberts 


" Yes/ 1 said Kitty, " we are 1 ,r 

M 1 aw pleased/ 1 said Eustace ; " and now 
if I had any money I'd cable to my poor 
lonely uncle to say I was coming," 

M Dad, do you hear that ? " cried Kitty. 
" Why don't you speak ? Oh P Cousin 
Eustace, I 'in so- glad 

H Cousin Eustace/' cried Eustace, thunder 




* That** a most remarkable lot of gents in there," said the constable, pointing to the door 

with his thumb/" 

struck. " What, what, do you mean ? " lovely for tears, her father laid his hand on 

And just as Kitty sat down suddenly and tlie poet's shoulder, 
cried beautifully, knowing that she was of 4I My dear boya|J*j©|-|Brown of Boomoo- 

^lSSw* 110 are rather more than lcss noo % ; MWteij 


w Two o t 
Minutes oilence 

" . . . . and that the Nation might turn 
its thoughts reverently back to the four 
years of peril and sacrifice from which it 
had emerged, a decree was tnade that 
there should be a two-minutes 1 silence 
throughout the land. . . ." 

THE actual cause of the trouble hardly 
concerns us since causes are for 
philosophers and results for indi- 
viduals. The result was very pain- 
ful to both parties involved. They arrived 
at it by easy stages — through irritation to 
annoyance — annoyance to anger — anger, 
since it is surprising, to forgiveness — thence 
over the old ground again to anger without 
forgiveness, and finally to open hostility by 
day and night and unremitting domestic 
warfare. The symptoms are well known to 
most observers — they occur among nice 
people as well as nasty. 

Now since this story has for its essence the 
moral : Pause and consider, let us, before it 
is too late, record the fact that Betty and 
Boyd Norman were very nice people indeed 
— before they fell into the habit of argument 
and discord. They married in a delightful 
hurry during the early days of war, loved 
each other to distraction in season and out, 
behaved like perfect lunatics when the all- 
too-brief leaves brought them together for a 
flash past of wonderful days, wrote the most 
extravagant letters at every opportunity, 
and fell headlong into the raptures of furni- 
ture-buying, house-getting, and wondering 
if they would want a nursery just so soon 
as the nations were at peace. In a word, 
they conducted themselves in a very normal 
and proper manner and were a pattern to all 

to whom the question of marriage had 
presented itself. 

There may be some who at this point will 
shake their heads and say, " War weddings 
always have turned out badly.' ' Not at. all. 
It was a very nice wedding, and the war had 
nothing to do either with its making or its 
breaking. In support of which statement 
be it said they kissed each other for the first 
time in a Hampstead conservatory in the 
year 1913, and their original falling out (this 
savours of a breach of confidence) was oc- 
casioned by Boyd inadvertently shaking his 
fountain-pen over the skirt of a new dove- 
grey charmeuse gown Betty was wearing for 
the first time on an afternoon in January, 
1920. He made the mistake of treating the 
matter lightly and she of treating it too 
seriously. He regretted they had subscribed 
to a fire insurance rather than an ink in- 
surance, and she regretted that he should 
supply her with humour in place of contrition. 
His contrition, when it ultimately arrived, 
had a delay action fuse — it missed its mark 
and exploded ineffectually after the door 
had slammed. It is perfectly obvious he 
should have pursued her, but he didn't. 
Later in the evening, feeling very sorry, he 
went out and bought a tube of " Movall " 
(presumably in the belief that it contained 
an olive branch). This excursion resulted in 
his being ten minutes late for dinner — a 
circumstance accompanied by a reproach. 
Accordingly he threw the " Movall " out of 
the window and <}ef W .^eat his soup. 

Roland Pertwee 


When asked what was the matter with it he 
replied that he expected it was all right. 

Could anything be more stupid ? But 
there is a serious aspect that cannot be 
ignored. Discord possesses a curious at- 
traction. Harmony is delightful, but dis- 
cord is magnetic. It is exciting to add a 
wrong note to a chord just to see what the 
effect will be, but he who does so forgets that 
he is rendering his ear callous to sweetness 
by indulging in cacophony. Easy to say, 
" Oh, I'll play it right next time." There is 
always the danger that he won't bother 
whether it is right or wrong. The taste for 
bitterness is readily acquired and becomes a 
common necessity and habit. 

We will not attempt to # accompany them 
on their descent from happiness. They went 
by the all-too-familiar ladder that is ranged 
with intolerance, indignation, jealousy, and 
abuse, and which leads to a nasty dark place 
in whose divided ways people very easily lose 
one another. 

On the morning of November the eleventh, 
1920, they had a row, in the middle of which, 
actually speaking, our story begins. 

And this was the worst row ever, because 
neither of them had lost their tempers and 
were merely " saying things " with calm and 
calculating deliberation. 

Betty, being a woman, was naturally the 
cleverer, and what she said hurt most. 

But Boyd had decided not to mind that, 
because he had something dreadful to say 
and was only waiting for the opportunity to 
say it. 

What he proposed to say was this : — 

" If you'll make a list of the furniture you 
wish to keep I'll arrange for the remainder 
to be collected." 

(A little oblique, you will observe, stu- 
diously polite, and wholly damnable.) 

SOMEHOW or other at ten minutes to 
eleven the loud pedal went down on the 
argument. An unlooked-for fierceness 
took possession of their voices. Betty's pretty 
cheeks fired to a letter-box scarlet and Boyd's 
hands trembled uncontrollably. 

From the street below came the solid roar 
of traffic — the honk and bleat of horns — the 
rustle of a thousand feet upon pavements — 
the cries of newsboys and the tapping of a 
blind man's stick. Life seemed to be moving 
very rapidly and noisily towards dissolution. 

*' I hate vou — hate vou ! " said Betty. 

" Thanks ; I knew that." 

" You've been a beast — an absolute beast 
to me." 

" Have I ? " 

" Yes," 

" Very well, we won't dispute it." 

" Oh, I wish — I wish I'd never seen you — 

I wish » 

" If that's what you wish, the solution is 
fairlv obvious." 

,- What solution ? " 

" It's plain enough. Do you think it's 
possible for us to go on like this ? " 

" Do you think I want to ? " 

" All right, then ; if that's how it goes 
we'd better make up our minds right away 
that " 

He hesitated, fixed her with his eyes, and 
drew a long breath. And at that moment 
the church tower opposite struck the first 
chime of eleven. Simultaneously every noise * 
and movement in the street ceased as though 
a hand had been clapped over the mouth of 
the world. 

Boyd was fumbling for words when the 
silence came and with it a memory of the 
cause. The nation was thinking of its dead. 
Betty looked at him, a shade of perplexity 
running across her anger, and he half raised 
his hand. That was all, but it was enough. 
They held each other's eyes — she red of cheek 
— he very white — waiting for the silence to 
break. On the tongue of each was a bullet 
destined for the heart of the other, and two 
minutes were theirs to steady the aim. 

Now it is an established fact if you aim at 
an object too long you will find the foresight 
of your rifle will begin strange gyrations. 
It describes ellipses and arcs — it refuses to 
remain steady — it points at anything and 
everything except the mark intended. That 
is precisely what occurred with the minds of 
our protagonists. In the silence they lost 
direction. Present intention declined in 
sharp perspective to a perfectly - defined 
recollection of past events. 

Within rather less than half a minute the 
anger had died out of Boyd's eyes and he 
saw the crimsoned little face confronting him 
transform through pink to ivory, and ab- 
surdly enough there was an impression of 
orange blossoms in her pretty hair. 

He had gone half-way down the aisle to 
meet her, ignoring the best man's hoarse 
injunction, " Come back, you silly ass." 
If a man couldn't be a silly ass on his wedding 
day, when could he ? Betty had starry eyes 
which gleamed approval as he came near. 
No one could have resisted them. He had 
wondered why every man in the church 
didn't spring to his feet and challenge his 
right to possess this miracle of loveliness. 

And afterward. There were things to 
remember that they said to each other in 
the electric brougham. Married folks will 
endorse that and single must find out for 
themselves, but lest they go guessing all 
wrong or if they are by nature inarticulate, 
they have but to look at the third finger of a 
left hand encircled by a twinkly bright 
wedding ring, and they are pretty sure to 
stumble on the right words. 



Two Minutes* Silence 

"And that the Nation might 
I urn its thoughts reverently 
back to the bur years 

There was no reception. They 

couldn't afford an afternoon spent 

that way when there was only a 

week's leave for the honeymoon. 

There was a revelation, though. A 

pure revelation — the most fragile 

and exquisite experience life can 

Ix-stmv, The miracle of unpacking 

" our trousseaux by ourselves/* 

Boyd sat on the bed in the trim 

little hotel suite they had taken, 

and in sheer nervousness gazed at 

the toes of his faultless brown shoes 

wliile a small and timid person was 

shyly conveying the frailest crea- 

tions of lace and lawn to a frankly 

Victorian chest ot drawers. And though his feet were size ten 

mid his hands extremely large he knew that by some amazing 

process he had found hie way into fairyland and the Queen and 

all her gossamers were his and his alone. It was a very startling 

discovery, and the only means by which he could convey his 

appreciation was by kissing the palms of her hands a great 

many times. 

Ji Didn't think anything could be so wonderful/' he gulped. 
And she gave the only possible reply : — 
4i Nothing could/' 

For ih;it h I would have you know, is the way that fairies 
cause people to talk on wedding days. 

The quickness of a leave deceives the heart. That is why 
Victoria Station at 7*40 a.m, was the rendezvous of England's 
tears. Smiles held sway until the leave train swallowed up its 
victims. After that more or less everyone cried in their particular 
fashion — some pretending they weren't-— others flagrantly blow- 
ing their noses under the verv,^;^ officials— 

Roland Pertwee 


tuned to the utter- 
ance of the single 
phrase, " Take your 
seats — stand away 
there ! " 

But Betty didn't stand 
away. She jumped on the 
running board, put her arms round Boyd's 
neck and held on. A porter collar ed her 
at the platform end, or Heaven knows 
what might have happened. Before that 
she had kissed an old major in Boyd's 
carriage because he had no one to see him 
off. And the old major had said ; — 

f< Blast you, sir, you've got a damn 
fine wife — damn you, sir— you have." 

In the freemasonry of emotion invec- 
tive has a throne, 

Boyd spent the journey to Folkestone 
writing a letter, and he wrote another on 
arrival. Also he sent a wire which, for 
sheer extravagance of expres- 
sion, would have taken the 
roof off an average post-office 
in any other period of history. 

From Boulogne back to his 
division the train was packed 
with officers and men returning 
from leave. For eight hours 
Boyd and another man, a total 
stranger, discussed happiness in 
all its variants, the conversa- 
tion having started from a 
mutually expressed apprecia- 
tion of how wonderful women 
were* Certainly, during the war, 
men talked to one another. 


of peril and sacrifice from which it had emerged, a decree 
made that there should 1*: a two-minutes* silence 
diiouiiknit tht land,:* 


Two Minutes' Silence 

Memory knows no halting-places and bows 
to no direction. It skipped a year and stayed 
all standing in the very middle of " The 
Arras Stunt." And Boyd was reading a 
letter from Betty saying she wasn't frightened 
a bit but was glad. He had asked for leave 
on the strength of the letter — in the circum- 
stances it was refused. 

" Can't be done," the Colonel said. " And 
after all a man's better out of the way at 
those times." 

THEY went over the top the following 
morning at a time that synchronized 
exactly with another event of vastly more 
terrible importance in Boyd's imagination. 
In his left hand he clutched a little perfumed 
kerchief Betty had sent him a few days before. 
It was his mascot for the double fight and 
it served him generously indeed. A fatherly 
5'9 burst near by and peeled off a long strip 
of muscle from his upper forearm. The little 
white kerchief turned very red and the 
world became a drowsy place — that rumbled 
persistently with a curiously familiar rumble. 
When he opened his eyes trees and telegraph 
poles were flashing by across a square of 
window. It was difficult to realize one was 
in a train and that the train was running 
alongside a white steamer which bore a big 
red cross. 

At seven o'clock that night Boyd was 
leaning against the luggage lift in Charing 
Cross Station. The worst cases were cleared 
by ambulance, but there was not enough 
accommodation for everyone. An officer in 
charge packed the walking wounded into 

Boyd found himself sharing a taxi with a 
merry-eyed boy whose arm was bound 
across his chest. The driver had been 
instructed to proceed to the Third London 
General Hospital, but Boyd had other views. 

" Look here," he said, " are you a sport ? " 

And the merry-eyed boy proved by his 
answer that he was. 

And in view of the fact that he was in 
battle at 7 a.m. and was ringing his own 
door bell at 7 p.m., it is manifest that 
miracles occur even in the present century. 

He tip-toed into his wife's room at the 
very moment her heart was near to breaking. 
The nurse had whispered in the hall, shaken 
her head toward a closed door, and told him 
the story that ends at its beginning, the' 
smallest and saddest and shortest story in 
the world. And he laid his head beside 
Betty's on the pillow and their cheeks were 
pressed so close together that even tears 
could find no room to fall between them. 

" We've all the blessed future, dear," he 
said, at last. " The wonderful, wonderful 
luture that's so tremendous for us and 
that we're going to do such things with/' 

And at this point memory began to play 
pranks, flashing to and fro from' past to 
present and back again. 

What was that phrase about dividing the 
furniture — how did it go ? And there was a 
prayer, too, of thanksgiving offered up on 
Armistice Day, two years before, and 
breathed simultaneously in South Kensington 
and at a spot somewhere near the Rhine. 
That prayer was repeated in two letters that 
crossed each other on the following day — 
letters that gave resolution the solidity of 
rock. How could anything ever happen to 
people who wrote letters like that and meant 
them ? How could any contrivance of ink, 
circumstance, third party, or habit drive a 
wedge into such affinity ? One could imagine 
the reception the cynic would have had who 
suggested the possibility — who had written 
on a post-card that it would be handy to 
conserve a phrase like the one about the 
furniture for future needs. 

I do not know what passed through the 
mind of Betty Norman during the great 
silence of 1920. The mind of a woman is a 
mystery, like a lake of unfathomable depth. 
It was a lake of black, frozen water when the 
silence began, and who can say why the ice 
melted and reeds came to rustle at its shores, 
or when the lilies broke into flower upon the 
surface ? Ours is an age of Tubes and tele- 
phones, but fairies have their hiding-places in 
tunnels as well as tree boles, and call through 
the windows of the hurrying trains or short- 
circuit the wire that connects us with Lewis 
and Lewis, specialists in divorce and judicial 
separation, with a spider thread of finest 

And, of course, if you give them two whole 
minutes to get busy — with an entire nation 
standing still — just anything is going to 

The engine of a motor started up in 
the street below, followed by another and 
another; the scrape of a dray-horse's hoofs 
taking up a heavy load, the whistle of a train 
somewhere down the line, the patter of feet 
on paving-stones, a muffin bell, the cry of a 
hawker and the tap, tap of a blind man's stick. 

The silence was over and once again 
the people of England were passing on. Yet 
somehow in common sounds of life and 
movement there was a difference — a muffled 
note — as though the world walked felt-soled, 
tip-toeing through the afterglow of a supreme 
revelation, the revelation of a dead, 
dreadful, but glorious past. 

" I can't speak," said Boyd ; " oh, I can't 
say anything." 

" You needn't," she whispered, " but just 
take hold of me, please." 

And it can happen so if people will only 
trust themselves to believe it. 



Com i n6 Winders 

(Technical Secretary of the Civil Aerial Transport Committee.) 




THE real wonders of the air are only 
just about to dawn. We are on the 
brink, now, of inventions and dis- 
coveries which will pale almost into 
insignificance everything which has been 
done hitherto. 

We have seen a good deal, but we have 
not yet seen half there is to be seen ; and 
the wonders to come are very much greater 
than those which have already taken place. 
We have thought of flying, so far, as some- 
thing that is very wonderful, no doubt, but 
very far indeed from our own personal lives. 
But this is going to be the case no longer ; 
we are not going to look on at flying any 
more ; we are going to fly ourselves. And 
we are, in a sense, going to make our lives 
longer by doing so. We shall move at such 
speed from place to place that the time we 
spend on travel will be more than halved ; 
which will leave us so much more time for 
resting or reading, or for the playing of 
games ; or, if we are as active as we are all 
becoming to-day, we shall make use of these 
saved hours, days, and weeks in broadening 
our view of the world by visiting places and 
seeing things which it would be impossible 
for us to see in one short lifetime were it not 
for this marvel of one hundred miles an hour 
transport by air. This is what the era of 
the air will mean for you, and me, and every- 
body else ; this, and a good deal more. 
Those experts who concentrate upon the 
" airways " between London and the Conti- 
nent, and who will soon be operating thou- 
sands of miles of air routes throughout 
Europe, foresee very clearly now some of 
the scientific wonders which impend. 

Digitized by LiOOQlC 

TAKE, for instance, the fascinating science 
of fog-fighting, and the navigation of an 
aeroplane through mist or cloud. In- 
struments almost human in the ingenuity of 
their action are now being devised to com- 
pensate the airman for his lack of actual 
vision when he is flying through a heavily- 
obscured air. One of the things he wants 
to know is his height above the ground. 
There is a device now being tested which 
contains special instruments which are so 
sensitive that they are affected by, and 
respond to, their nearness to earth or water. 
What it is possible to do with this machine 
is to cause a series of coloured electric bulbs 
to glow in the pilot's cockpit according to 
his proximity to the earth — a light of one 
colour recording so many thousands of feet 
above the ground, and so on ; the lights 
changing, for example, as the aeroplane 
descends towards the ground. Thus, by a 
glance at whatever light may be glowing at 
the moment, the pilot can tell at once his 
altitude in relation, say, to the aerodrome 
he is approaching. And this is but one of 
many wonderful devices with which the mind 
of the aerial expert is busy. 

One of the most striking things of to-day- 
is the way in which aeroplanes are changing 
and improving in design in order to meet 
the requirements of real business transport 
through the air. 

One wants to carry an air-borne load 
swiftly from place to place. At the same 
time one wants to do so with the least pos- 
sible expenditure of engine-power and fuel. 
This means very largely that one must 
design one's machine so that it offers the 



Coming Wonders of the Air 


: Tmp im 

■ h 





least possible resistance to its own rapid 
movement through the air, Tims we are 
turning from the biplane, or machine with 
two planes one above the other connected 
by stmts and wires, to a monoplane machine 
which shall have only one wing and which 
shall eliminate the need for external struts 
and wires. And already the aeroplane de- 
signer is looking a stage farther ahead than 
this. He is visualizing the aeroplane of the 
future, And the ne.xt stage in high-speed 
craft will be the elimination of any external 
fuselage or hull. The big '* air expresses " 
on our European airways are expected to 
develop into huge single wings and little 
else, with everything — engines, passengers, 
crew p and fuel- — being accommodated within, 
instead of outside of, this great monoplane* 
In a contemplated design one of these big 
wings is as much as a hundred feet long and 
seven feet in thickness at its central sections* 
This will permit the designer to accommo- 
date his entire load, either of passengers or 
cargo, inside the wing* He can provide an 
enclosed passenger saloon ten yards in length, 
several yards in width, and with ample head- 
room. Engines, too, would be inside the 
wing, driving propellers either in front of or 
liehind it. and there would be room inside 

Diqii: (TnCTl 

the wing, near the engines, for mechanics 
to move about at their work* These per- 
fected monoplanes will have such small 
resistance to their own progress through 
the air that speeds of two hundred miles 
an hour, or slightly more, are expected even 
with a large passenger craft. This may 
mean an air express flight between London 
and Paris of only about an hour — as quick 
as the present railway journey down to 
Brighton ! 

A wonder we shall soon see realized in 
actual fact is the airship arrival and depar- 
ture platform on the top of a huge steel 

Experiments conducted secretly during 
the war, and continued since, have now* 
proved that big airships, or air liners, such as 
have been designed and are now building* 
for the Atlantic service between Europe and 
America, will require to go into their sheds 
only occasionally, like a ship into dock. 

At all other times they will simply ride 
out in their appointed element, the air, just 
in the same way as a ship does on the sea, 
picking up and disembarking passengers 
from special aerial stations raised high above 
the ground. 

The latest '3e^gna Mmilfcse airship stations, 


Harry Harper 






(The interior of the platform at the top of the (6^^' ^^^\^^jff^^^^ 


Coming Wonders of the Air 


A COVERED PASSAGE- WAY LIKE THAT , ffiflfflfffltf tfffl!|fc A N 

Harry Harper 


or towers, are extra- 
ordinarily in teres! i 11 g ; 
and one may note that 
the Air Ministry now 
proposes to put an 
im proved one up for 
testing at the station 
at How den. 

Let us assume for a 
moment that we are 
aerial passengers leav- 
ing London for the 
forty-eight hours* air- 
ship flight to New 
York which should 
become possible as 
soon as we have the 
really large airship 
which will fly at great 
speed. Arriving at 
the air -station, we 
find ourselves in a 
glass-roofed vesti bule. 
Then, parsing into an 
inner hall, we step into 
a lift and are borne in 
this swiftly up through 
the centre of an im- 
mensely tali, slender 
tower of steel until we 
reach a small, covered - 
in chamber. 1 . . Hare t 
leaving the lift and 
going up a short"- -flight 
of steps, we emerge oi\ 
a platform which is at 
the \ery head of the 
mast or column up 
which the lift has 
carried us. There ts 
no fear of one's feel- 
ing' dizzy, in spite of 
the " height; because 
thfe - platform is en- 
tirely % ailed and 
roOfed, and ' there is 
nothing to tell us- we 
are how in a sort of 
crow's-nest, with the 
earth a very long way 

At the top of the tower, floating quite 
freely in the air, and with her bow attached 
by a special coupling to the chamber in 
which we stand, is the ocean-going airship. 
In order to take up this position she has 
flown near the tower and dropped a rope, to 
which has been attached a flexible steel 
cable which is connected to an electric winch 
within the tower. Then, the cable being 
wound in, she has been " berthed " snugly* 
Here she rides securely — the whole platform 
revolving so that she is always head tn wind — 
even should a gale arise* Even in winds 




blowing at the velocity of seventy or eighty 
miles an hour an airs hi p thus berthed will 
ride quite safelv* '- -^ 

Now we embark, Between the bow of 
the airship and the platform of the elevated 
air-station is a covered, flexible passage- wa y t 
rather like those one is ace ust owed to pass 
through when going from one eoach >to 
another of a corridor train'; Through this 
we walk quite unperturbed, with no 
unpleasant suggestion at all of being 


Coming Wonders of the Air 




as if we had entered some ocean -going 

With her mails as well as passengers 
aboard, the airship " casts off M from her 
tower and drifts away on the wind. Then, 
starting her engines at a signal from the 
control car, she will swing off on her four 
thousand miles' flight. And in these great 
ocean-going airships we shall travel with a 
comfort, or rather a luxury, which we have 
never known before. Cabins, lounges, beauti- 
ful upper-deck saloons — the trans-ocean air- 
ship will have all these ; and when winds are 
high, and the surface of the sea below is rising 
in tempestuous waves, the airship traveller 
will look down quite unconcerned. His 
vessel will ride with perfect steadiness, and 
sickness will be a thing of the past. 

There is a wonder of air travel looming 
now on the horizon which, should it mate- 
rialize, will revolutionize the operation of 
aerial routes and lead us perhaps into an 
electrical as well as an air age which may 
develop in a way that will bring results 
almost incredible. 

It is a thought which has long been in the 
minds of inventors. Hitherto, though, it has 
been more ot less a dream. The idea is to 

use electricity, instead of petrol engines, to 
drive aeroplanes along an organized flying 
route. One drawback, so far, has been to 
concentrate the electrical energy upward in 
a prescribed beam, and to prevent it from 
dissipating itself in all directions. Recent 
experiments in wireless telephony suggest, 
however, that it may be possible to electrify 
an international flying route with a ray of 
wireless current which will be so controlled, 
as it is projected upward by ground stations, 
that it is focused in a regular and constant 
beam, being picked up out of the air by the 
specially -de vised motors of planes wluch fly 
along this lane of traffic. This will mean 
that an aeroplane will be installed merely 
with a lightened electric motor capable of 
being energized by the wireless waves. 
There will be no need, as at present, to lift 
into the air the dead weight of many gallons 
of fuel, and the space and weight thus saved 
will be devoted to profit-earning cargo, 

A possibility even more astonishing, which 
seems at a first glance positively uncanny, is the 
flying along these electrified airways of planes 
without pilots or any human being in them. 

It has been shown possible, alreadv. to 

Harry Harper 


while it is flying, by wireless impulses 
directed up from the ground. It was, in 
fact, suggested, towards the end of the war, 
that bomb-dropping might be carried out in 
this way, and that aeroplanes carrying tor- 
pedoes might be launched against ships and 
directed towards their target by distant con- 
trolling stations. But the difficulty was that 
the operator at the wireless station could 
control the pilotless aeroplane only as long as 
it was in sight, which restricted very greatly 
the range in war- But detailed improve- 
ments in wireless telegraphy are calling atten- 
tion to the fact that it may not only be found 
possible to send a small aircraft up into the 
air without a pilot and guide it by wireless 
as long as it is in sight, but it may even 
become feasible to go on controlling it by the 
new power of directional wireless even when 
it is beyond human vision. The pilotless 
plane may, that is to say, be so equipped that 
it will send out automatically, every few 
seconds, a signal which is received by the 
stations controlling it, and which will enable 
them, by the impulses which they originate 
arid transmit, to steer it on a predetermined 
course should its tendency have been to veer 
awav from it. , 

On an international airway, with electrical 
stations as close together "as desired, the 
question of wireless control might be solved 
quite easily. Each station would control a 
plane within limits of vision, and would then 
surrender it to the sphere of the next station, 
and so on. 

Thus it may be possible, ultimately, to 
cause a large cargo aeroplane without a 
crew to ascend from London, fly by elec- 
trical propulsion and control along the 
aerial way to Paris, and glide safely to its 
landing point just as though a pilot had 
been sittipg at its controls. And the 
ability to dispense with a crew would, 
of course, provide more lifting power and 
space for mails and goods. 

WHAT can one say of such marvels 
save that the ceaseless ingenuity of 
man's brain, coupled with the won- 
ders he now controls in scientific instru- 
ments and machinery, may lead us into a 
world in which we annihilate the old 
restrictions of time and distance, and live 
e life of such activity and interest that, 
looking back, we shall hardly seem to have 
lived at all to-day ? 



On either hand the upright* we may see. 
What fitter place for uprights could there be ? 

i. A thankless task— if task it be— unless 
One loves to eat the bread of idleness. 

2. See beadles.**, tailless see : within we find 
Something that wi J retailing bring to mind. 

3. tiling Scandinavian ; and. with added head, 
An English thing of mark is seen instead. 


Who writes to maiden should a letter change, 
As it is startling, more than passing strange. 

Let famous couple now their river miss, 
One will become a plant, the other this. 

She will 

quadruped u 
11 be noticed, 

she without a name. 


Answers to Acrostic Xo. 92 should be addressed to the 
Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Strut, Strand, London, W.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on March llth. 

Two answers tnay be sent to every light. 

It is essential that solvers, icith their answers to this 
acrttstic, should send also their real nam** and addresses. 



Notes. — Light. 1. William Morris. 9. Humanum est 
crrare. 13. Oil spring. 

The " Malta " light in Xo. 89 proved unexpectedly diffi- 
cult. Several solvers overlooked the fact that the island 
is in view, buried in the words " formal take." 

Answer to Xo. 












v 1 c 



oil e 



e il e t 






a v 






u gh 



re s pas 



s ol at e 



a p h t h 




by Google 

Original from 





MR. CRAY, newly arrived from 
Paris, sat in the lounge of the 
Milan, talking to his daughter, 
Lady Sittingbourne. 

The latter was a little distressed. 

" I am worried about George, dad," she 
confided. " When did you say the Maure- 
iania arrived ? " 

* Docked in Liverpool midday yesterday," 
Mr. Cray replied. " The special arrived in 
London last night." 

" George cabled me from New York that 
he was sailing on her," Sara continued, " and 
1 have heard nothing since. I sat at home 
all last night, and all to-day up till four 
o'clock. Then I telephoned the Cunard 
Steamship Company and they told me that 
he was on board. They knew nothing else, 
of course." 

Mr. Cray admitted to being a little per- 
plexed himself. " I suppose he'd have to go 
to Downing Street first," he observed. 

" I thought I'd allowed plenty of time for 
that. Why, dad " 

Mr. Cray was leaning forward in his chair. 
He, too, was staring in some bewilderment 
at the tall, good-looking man who had just 
descended the steps and, with a companion 
by his side, was making his way towards the 
restaurant. There was not the slightest 
doubt that the man was Sir George Sitting- 
bourne, or that his companion was an ex- 
tremely good-looking woman of somewhat 
flamboyant type. 

" George ! " Sara exclaimed, breathlessly. 
** What on earth does this mean ? " 

Copyright, 1921, by E. 



Illustrated by SABBBV- 

She rose impulsively to her feet. Her 
husband turned and glanced in their direc- 
tion. He took not the slightest notice either 
of his wife or his father-in-law. The woman 
by his side plucked at his arm to ask him a 
question, and he smiled into her face as he 
leaned down. 

" Gee ! " Mr. Cray murmured. " This is 
bad! " 

" It's disgraceful — horrible ! " Sara cried. 
" So this is why George hasn't been home ! " 

Mr. Cray pulled himself together. 

" George isn't that sort, my dear," he 
declared. . " There's something queer about 
it. Let's sit and think for a moment." 

" I shall do nothing of the sort," Sara 
insisted. " I shall go straight in and con- 
front him. I will let him know that I saw 
him with my own eyes." 

" If your ladyship will excuse me ! " 

Both Mr. Cray and his daughter looked 
round. Standing behind their settee was a 
small, dark man of unobtrusive manners, 
dressed in an unobtrusive dinner suit, and 
with a faintly deprecating smile upon his lips. 

" I regret so much," he went on, " being 
compelled to make my little explanation 
here. I called in Curzon Street, but found 
that your ladyship had just left. I wish to 
have a word with you in reference to your 

" My husband ? " Sara repeated, blankly. 
" Who are you ? " 

" My name is King," the young man re- 
plied. " I am connected with the Intelli- 
gence Department." 

Phmips lM' I tertY OF MICHIGAN 

E. Phillips Oppenheim 


If your ladyship will excuse me ! ' both Mr, Cray and bis daughter looked round * I 

with to have a word with you in reference la your husband.' " 


Mr. Cray*s Adventures 

Neither Sara nor her father felt capable of 
any comment. The situation so suddenly 
disclosed had taken their breath away. 

" Your husband," Mr. King continued, 
smoothly, " after a very successful visit to 
the States, has met with one of those mis- 
adventures on his homeward journey to 
which .we are all of us sometimes subject. 
An autograph letter which he was conveying 
from a certain person in Washington to the 
Prime Minister, and to obtain which was the 
object of his mission, was stolen from his 
person during the last day of his voyage 

" What has that to do with my husband's 
presence here with that — that woman ? " 
Sara demanded. 

" Sir George sought the aid of my de- 
partment by wireless," Mr. King replied. 
" I boarded the steamer in the Mersey and 
at once realized the probable thief. -The 
woman whom he is dining with to-night sat 
at his table and occupied the next stateroom 
to his. She is an Austrian.' It will be 
sufficient if I tell you that if she had been 
found in any of the allied countries during 
the war she would have been shot at once as 
a spy." 

" What is her name ? " Sara demanded, a 
little irrelevantly. 

" She has many/' Mr. King answered. 
" She calls herself at present Mrs. Jacob 
Weiller, from 'Chicago." 

" And why is she dining alone with my 
husband ? " , - 

Mr. King smiled inscrutably. 

" Even the most successful Secret Service 
agents in the world," he said, " have their 
weak point. Mrs. Weiller, although she 
must be forty, years old, preserves a romantic 
disposition. From my inquiries oh the ship, 
I learned that she has pursued your husband 
with attentions from the day the steamer 
left Sandy Hook, attentions which I might 
add were obviotisly undesired. It was my 
advice at once that your husband should 
not lose sight of the lady. I may tell you 
that while he engages her attention at 
dinner, her rooms are being thoroughly 
searched by our agents." 

" Say, this affair becomes interesting I " 
Mr. Cray declared, his natural instincts 
asserting themselves. " I guess you are 
satisfied now, Sara ? " 

41 I suppose so," she admitted, with a shade 
of doubt still in her tone. 

" Then let's just have a word or two more 
about this matter," Mr. Cray went on. 
" Searching the lady's rooms is all very well, 
but can't she have sent the letter awav some- 
where ? " 

"It is impossible that she should have 
parted with it," Mr. King pronounced. " I 
myself left the steamer by her side. I travelled 

in the same compartment from Liverpool; 
I did not move a yard away from her on 
Euston platform. Sir George escorted her 
here in a taxicab, from which I watched her 
myself alight in the entrance hall of the Milan, 
and went up in the lift with her to her room. 
Since then she has been surrounded by a 
cordon of our best agents. She has posted 
three absolutely harmless letters to personal 
friends, each of which has been read." 

" What about her person ? " Mr. Cray 
demanded. " Surely she would carry a 
letter as important as that about with her ? " 

" An agent of ours," Mr. King explained, 
" at once took the place of the chambermaid 
on her floor, and has rendered her since her 
arrival the most intimate personal services. 
The letter is not concealed upon her person." 

" How large a thing is it ? " Mr. Cray 

"It is a bulky document," Mr. King 
replied. " There are eighteen pages of 
ordinary letter paper enclosed in a long 
envelope. It is altogether a packet of some 

" The stewardess on the ship " Mr. 
Cray began. 

Mr. King smiled. ' 

" We make our mistakes," He interrupted, 
" but in our way we are thorough. Every 
person with whom she came in contact during 
the last day of her voyage has Been- dealt 
with. Excuse me for a moment:" 

MR. KING sauntered across the" foyer to 
where a recently-arrived prototype of 
himself had lit a cigarettfe and was 
ordering a cocktail. : There - was a few 
minutes' casual conversation * between the 
two men, after which Mr. King returned. 

" The search of Blanche Weiller's room," 
he announced, " has revealed nothing. I 
think, in the circumstances, Lady Sitting* 
bourne, disappointing though if may be to 
you, the best thing you can do is 'to return 
home. We will send your husband after you 
as soon as we can spare him." 

Sara made a little grimace. 

" I don't see what good he can do if your 
agents have failed to discover the document," 
she observed, rising reluctantly to her feet, 
" and in any case I haven't had anv dinner 

Mr. Cray took his daughter by the arm. 

" We'll go straight into the Grill Room 
and have a bite, Sara. Afterwards, if I 
could have a word with you, Mr. King, I'd 
be glad," he went on. " " I am naturally 
interested in this affair, and it is just possible 
that I might be of some slight assistance." 

King looked a little doubtful. Mr. Cray 
pushed back his coat, revealing a small 
medal attached to his waistcoat. The other's 

^""DitfttRfliJ Michigan 

E. Phillips Oppenheim 


" For services rendered the American 
Intelligence Department/' Mr. Cray, ex- 
plained. " I'll look for you about here, eh, 
in three-quarters of an .hour ? " 

" I shall be very glad of your help, sir," 
was the quiet reply. 

THE dinner in the Grill Room was rather 
a dull meal. Sara was several times 
on the verge of tears, and her father, 
although fully sympathetic, was inclined at 
times to let his attention wander a little. 

"It seems positively hateful," the former 
declared, " to think that I should be up here 
dining alone with you, and George, who has 
been away from me for months, is in the 
restaurant, dining with another woman ! 
Of course, I am sorry that the letter was 
stolen from him, but I'm sure he took 
every care of it. I don't see what he 
can possibly do now towards getting it 

" It's hard luck," Mr. Cray murmured, 
soothingly, " but I guess you've got to re- 
member this, Sara. In diplomacy and all 
Intelligence business, judgment goes only by 
results. George was entrusted with that 
letter and he allowed it to be stolen from him. 
The fault might not have been his. On the 
other hand, if he doesn't get it back again 
the black mark's there." 

" I call it unfair," Sara protested. " He 
was so successful with all the rest of his 
business. They ought to take that into 

" We'll soon fix that up all right," Mr. 
Cray promised. 

Sara sighed. 

" I know how clever you are, dad," she 
said, " but I really don't see what you can 
do here." 

" What I should like to do," Mr. Cray 
remarked, thoughtfully, " is to turn a slight 
disaster into an absolute triumph. Blanche 
Weiller, eh? Well, well! The wife of 
Jacob N. Weiller of Chicago, eh ? " 

" Do you know something about her, 
dad ? Have you ever seen her before ? " 
Sara inquired. 

Mr. Cray smiled mysteriously. 

" I think I know as much about the lady 
as our friend, Mr. King," he said. " I was 
at Amiens when she was in charge of a 
French field hospital. She was asked to 
leave, the day after she arrived — no excuse 
— not a word of explanation — just her 
railway pass to Paris, and a hint. She 
simply faded away, I knew her before that, 
though. I remember when she had what 
they call a salon in Washington, some seven 
years ago." 

" You really are rather a wonderful 
person," Sara observed. 

" Nothing wonderful about it," Mr. Cray 

Vol ixi.—ia. 

replied, modestly. " I have a good memory, 
and I never forget a face." 

Sara sighed as her father paid the bill. 

" Well, I suppose I'd better go home," she 
said. " Will you put me in a taxi, dad, and 
let me know as soon as there's anv news ? " 

" Sure ! " Mr. Cray promised. " I'll tele- 

MR. CRAY found his new friend study- 
ing the tape in the upper hall. 

" Say, I'd like to be presented to 
this Mrs. Weiller," the former said, after 
they had stood side by side for several 
moments, both apparently deeply interested 
by the news. 

Mr. King shook his head. 

" lam keeping under cover," he replied. 

" Sha'n't be butting in," Mr. Cray asked, 
" if I find my own way there ? " 

Mr. King considered the point for a 

" Not at all," he decided. " You're Sir 
George's father-in-law. Quite natural for 
you to speak to him." 

Whereupon Mr. Cray descended into the 
foyer, and after glancing around for a 
moment as though in search of someone, 
approached Sir George. His right hand was 
held out in cordial recognition to Mrs. 
Weiller. She looked up at him pleasantly, 
but evidently puzzled. 

" George, my boy, glad to see you safely 
back again," Mr. Cray said. " And — surely 
I'm not mistaken— aren't you Mrs. Jacob 
N. Weiller, of Chicago ? " 

" That is my name," the ladv admitted, 
" but^— " 

44 Why, my dear lady, " Mr. Cray inter-' 
rupted, " your husband and I were at school 
together, same class at Princetown, and 
before his marriage we roomed together in 
New York. Kinder shame I only met you 
once — out at the Country Club— the Shore 
Country Club, you know. Luke Hamer was 
there, and all the crowd." 

" Of course, I remember," the lady 
acknowledged, with a sweet smile. 

"Is Jacob along?" Mr, Cray asked, 

" Not this time." 

Mr. Cray remained for a few more minutes 
chatting on general subjects. Then he took 
a somewhat hurried departure, recognizing 
an acquaintance in a distant part of the 

" A dear, friendly person," Mrs. Weiller 
murmured, toying with one of the stones of 
her long amber necjdace. " To tell you the 
truth, though, I don't remember him in the 

Mr. Cray touched King on the arm as he 
passed him in the upper hall, and led him 
into the bar. He ordered two Scotch 


Mr. Cray's Adventures 

whiskies and sodas and shook his head gravely 
at his companion. 

"Say, Mr. King," he began, " I don't 
want to seem to be rubbing it in, but you 
fellows ain't all that smart. You can reckon 
on liandling that letter any time you choose." 

Mr. King started a little. His eyes nar- 
rowed. He looked at his companion ap- 
praisingly. He could not make up his mind 
whether "this was a bluff or whether there 
was sotnething underneath. 

' l Where is the letter, then ? " he asked. 

Mr. Cray smiled. 

" I've had a few words with the lady," he 
went on, thoughtfully. " I talked to her of 
her husband who never existed, and of a 
meeting which never took place. She fell 
to it admirably, and while we talked I 
looked for that letter. It wasn't so difficult 
to locate, either." 

" Look here," Mr. King said, " that letter 
consists of eighteen sheets of rather thick 
notepaper, secured in a long, legal envelope. 
It must weigh at least six ounces. Now, one 
of our own women attended Mrs. Weiller' 
.from the moment she stepped out of the bath, 
helped her on with her garments, and never 
left her for, a single second. -. From the jno- 
'ment she left the room she was shadowed by 
one of pur men, and I took the business up 
at the bottom of the lift. Now how can you 
make out that she has a packet of that 
description concealed upon her person ? " 
. " Dead easy," Mr. Cray replied. " The 
,only question is, do you want to help yourself 

to the letter at once, or ? " 

/ "Or what?" , 

41 Do you want to find out whose game 
.she's playing ? In other words, (to you 
want> to find out who's paving her to get 
,that letter ? V 

) Mr. King drew a little breath. He was 
(beginning to be impressed. 

" There isn't much doubt about that, I 
fancy, Mr. Cray," he said. 

"Think not? " *\ - - 

" Why, the yvoman's an Austrian by birth," 
Mr. King, pointed out. " She was undej 
suspicion many times, during the war. We 
had evidence only the other day," .he con- 
tinued, dropping his voice a little, " of the 
renewed activities of the German Secret 
Service. This woman is directly connected 
with, one of the jjew chiefs."- 

" Ah ! " Mr. Cray murmured. 

" I am treating you with every confidence, 
you see," his companion proceeded. " It 
would naturally be of the utmost importance 
to Germany to know exactly how America 
stands with reference to the ratification of 
the Treaty. The matter is urgent, too. I 
have been expecting her to make some 
attempt to dispose of her information, this 
evening. That is why we are here in such 

force. That is why we want to keep Sir 
George by her side as long as we can." 

" The game seems clear enough, certainly/* 
Mr. Cray observed. 

" Now tell me where that letter is ? " 
Mr. King asked, eagerly. 

Mr. Cray knocked the ash from his cigar. 

" That wouldn't do any good," he declared. 
" When I say that I know where the letter is, 
you can figure it out that I'm making a 
pretty strong guess. If I tell you and I'm 
wrong, you may lighten up on the job and 
let the blamed thing go through. You keep 
her in the net until she attempts to leave the 
hotel or send a parcel away. We'll have 
•her both ways then. We'll find the letter 
and we'll find out the agent with whom, she 
is dealing." 

" I think I can lay my hands on him," 
Mr. King observed, calmly. " We're watch- 
ing him, too, just as closely as we a,re the 
woman. If anything passes between .those 
two without being detected — well, I'll .resign 
my post to-morrow." 

" Capital ! " Mr. Cray murmured; ap- 
provingly. " Well, I guess I'll turn in. I 
like my eight hours when I can^get 'em." 

"You're not going to tell me where the 
letter is, then ? " Mr. King asked. 

" Do you believe I know where it is ? " 
Mr. Cray answered. . 

.His companion smiled. 

"To tell you the truth," he admitted, " I 
don't." c 

" Then I sha'n't disappoint you if we let 
things stay as they ,are until to-morrow," 
Mr. Cray decided. , % 

MR. CRAY found his son-in-law. waiting 
for him in his rooms. Sir George was 
standing on the hearthrug with his 
hands in his pockets, whistling moodily* 

" Where's Sara ? " he asked, eagerly. 

" Gone home an hour ago. We had a bite 
together in the Grill Room." 

" She understood, I hope ? " . » 

"More or less," Mr. Cray assured him. 
" You know what these women are. She 
may make a bit of a fuss for the sake of 
making it up afterwards. Are you off duty 
now ? " 

Sir George nodded. 

" I've done the best I can," he confessed. 
" The woman's too clever for me. If she's 
really got the letter, she must have swallowed 

" Did you suspect her at all during the 
voyage ? " Mr. Cray inquired. 

" I suspected everybody," his son-in-law 
replied. " I made no friends. I didn't 
speak a dozen words to anybody — until that 
last day. I had some coffee in the smoking- 
room which made me feel drowsy, and after- 
wards I dozed in mv steamer chair. When 

E. Phillips Oppcnheim 


* f Mr. Cray's light hand was held out in cordial recognition to Mrs. Weiller. She looked up at 

him pleasantly, but evidently puzzled/' 

I woke up, she was in the next chair to mine and searched ? *' Mr. Cray asked, thought* 

and the packet had gone from the inner fully. 

pocket of mv coat, where it Avas sewn in, * f That was mv first thought/' Sir George 

All the stitches had been cut.'' confessed. *■' The*? I looked at my watch 

11 You didn't feel like having her arrested .and sa|W|ttot-i-jd ^renjaslep^fpr an hour, so 


Mr. Cray's Adventures 

she'd had plenty of time to hide it. I sent 
the wireless to King, but otherwise I pre- 
tended not to have discovered the theft." 

" And you can't make anything of her ? " 
Mr. Cray queried. 

" Nothing at all," Sir George replied. 
" I've given the job up and I'm going home. 
The rest of my mission," he went on, " was 
completely successful, and I am not the 
first man in the Intelligence Department 
who has been robbed. I saw you talking to 
King," he continued. " Have you any 
theories ? " 

" Sure ! " Mr. Cray assented, cheerfullv. 
" We'll get that letter back all right, and 
before any mischief's been done. Not only 
that, but we'll carry the war into the enemy's 
camp. -We'll find out for whom she was 

Sir George looked at his father-in-law with 
something of that wondering admiration 
which he had more than once in his lifetime 
felt for him. 

" Are you in earnest ? " he asked, breath- 

41 Sure thing," Mr. Cray replied. " I'll lay 
ten to one I could put my hand on the letter 
• to-night. You get home to Sara now. By the 
by, are you seeing Mrs. Weiller again ? " 

" I promised to lunch to-morrow," Sir 
George replied, moodily. " I don't see that 
there's any use in it, and I'm a clumsy hand 
at this sort of flirtation." 

" Good boy," Mr. Cray murmured, ap- 
provingly. " Get along with you now, then. 
I'll telephone Sara that you're coming." 

Whereupon Sir George departed and his 
father-in-law went to bed. 

AT eleven o'clock the next morning there 
/J^ was a slight stir amongst the silent 
army of watchers who were gathered 
around the purlieus of the Milan Hotel. 
Messages came from upstairs, and, somewhat 
to Mr. Cray 's surprise, Mrs. Weiller descended 
from the lift, talked for a moment with one 
of the reception clerks, and, passing through 
the swing doors, asked for a taxi. She was on 
the point of driving off when King sauntered 
across to where Mr. Cray had risen from his 
seat in some perturbation. 

" It's all right,'* the former announced, 
smoothly. " She was dressed again by our 
woman, who also packed that wooden box 
she is carrying with her." 

'* What's in the wooden box ? " Mr. Cray 

" Only the amber necklace she was wearing, 
last night. Something wrong with the 
clasp. She is taking it to the Goldsmith's 
and Silversmith's." 

" Anyone following her ? " Mr. Cray, who 
was half-way towards the door demanded. 

King shook his head. 

" She hasn't got the letter with her/' he 
replied. " We don't want to make her 
suspicious if we can help it. Here — where 
are you off to ? " 

Mr. Cray had already accosted a taxicab 
driver waiting in the courtyard. He whis- 
pered a word or two to the man and jumped 

" Come along, if you want to be in at the 
death," he invited King. 

The latter obeyed with a little protest. 

" I don't see what's the use of following 
her," he declared. " We know where she's 

" Gee, but you're dead off it this time ! " 
Mr. Cray remarked, pityingly. " Bet you* a 
dime she doesn't go near the Goldsmith's 
and Silversmith's, and I bet you another 
dime she's got the letter with her." 

King was dubious, but his companion's 
confidence somewhat perturbed him. * 

" Mr. Cray," he said, " couldn't you be a 
little more explicit ? " 

" Well, I'll show you one thing, at any 
rate," was the calm reply. " There's Mrs. 
Weiller's taxi ahead of us, and, as you 
observe, we're in Piccadilly, not Regent 

" That's so," King observed, uneasily. 

" Don't bother me for explanations for a 
moment," Mr. Cray advised. " I want to 
keep my eve on that taxi. Yes, I thought 
so ! " 

They turned into a well-known thorough- 
fare, and stopped at a comparatively small 
jeweller's about half-way down. The traffic 
was somewhat blocked, and she had entered 
the shop while they tore still some distance 
behind. Mr. Cray half -rose in his seat. He 
was a little uneasy. i 

" Say, has she spotted you yet? " he 
asked his companion. 

King shook his head. 

" No, I've been in the background all the 

" Follow me into the shop, then," Cray 
directed. " You can ask for something or 
other. We can't afford to hang about." 

Mr. Cray stepped on to the pavement, 
crossed it with incredible swiftness, and 
entered the shop. Mrs. Weiller was the only 
customer present. Before her on the counter . 
uas stretched her amber necklace, just 
drawn from the box. The shopman ap- 
peared to be examining tlie catch. Mr. 
Cray passed on to the farther end of the shop, 
but suddenly seemed to recognize Mrs. 
Weiller and came towards her cheerfully. 

41 Say, you've soon begun to set the 
Chicago dollars spinning, Mrs. Weiller ! " he 
said, with a broad smile. " How are you 
feeling after the trip, eh ? " 

Mrs. Weiller wsis rcofc enthusiastic in her 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 

" I am very well indeed, thank you, Mr. 
Cray/' she said. "As a matter of fact, I 
am not here to buy anything at all. I was 
just having the catch of my amber necklace 
examined. I have rather a quaint fancy for 
this sort of thing/' she added, touching the 
beads carelessly. 

The jeweller, who had been examining the 
catch through a magnifying glass, made his 

the man assented. 

(i Certainly, madam/ h 
" What name will it be ? " 

" Mr. Gerald Thornassen/' 

Mrs. Weiller received the change from her 
purchase, and looked around as though to 
nod to Mr, Cray, but found him absorbed in 
the examination of some waistcoat buttons. 
She left the shop and passed out into the 
street. King for the first time spoke. 

Say, you've soon begun to set the Chicago dollars spinning, Mrs. Weiller ! ' Mr. Cray said/' 

report just as Cray inquired of his assistant 
for some plain gold safety-pins + King, too, 
entered at that moment and waited at the 
farther end of the place, 

" The catch, madam," the jeweller an- 
nounced, 4i is in perfect order, and will stand 
any reasonable strain. If, as you suggest, 
it slipped, it must have been imperfectly 
fastened, If you take care to drive it home, 
so/' he adder I h " you will never have any 

Mrs. \Yeiiler smiled and picked up her gold 
bag. She bought some trifle of jewellery 
while Cray was selecting his safety-pins. 

" Can I send the necklace anywhere for 
you, madam ? " the man asked. 

"If you wouldn't mind, a gentleman will 
call for it in about half an hour," she an- 
swered. " I am going shopping and it is 
really quite bulky to carry about/' 

*' You are letting her go ? JJ 

Mr. Cray smiled. . > - 

*' The letter is here," lie said, 

A little exclamation broke from King's 
lips. Mr, Cray moved down to where the 
jeweller was packing up the necklace. 

" May I be allowed to have a look at 
that ? " he asked. " Very fine amber, isn't 

" The necklace does not belong to us/' the 
jeweller replied, proceeding with his task, 
" We cannot allow clients' property to be 

Mr. Cray turned towards his companion, 
and King leaned against the counter. He 
whispered a word or two to the jeweller, who 
went suddenly pale. 

,c I — I really don't understand," he stam- 


Mr. Cray's Adventures 

have told you who I am. If you doubt my 
word, you can ring up the Department or 
call in the two plain-clothes officers who are 
outside by this time. Here is my warrant." 

Mr. King drew a small gold medal from 
his pocket. The jeweller bowed. 

" I am quite satisfied, sir," he said. J Pray 
proceed as you think fit." 

Mr. Cray took up the necklace in his hands 
and felt each of the stones. A beatific 
smile parted his lips. 

" It is as I supposed," he murmured. " See 

He pressed a hidden catch amongst the 
links and one of the 'stones flew open upon 
a concealed hinge. There was a small hollow 
space about an inch long and half an inch 
deep. In it was folded a wad of paper. 

" The letter," Mr. Cray observed, " has 
been cut into symmetrical pieces, each one 
numbered, and can, of course, be easily put 

King nodded apprehendingly. 

" We will examine it more carefully in a 
few minutes," he said. " In the meantime," 
lie added, " place the nearest necklace you 
have to it in this box, tie it up, and address 
it to Gerald Thornassen, Esq. The other 
necklace I will take care of." 

" You are aware that this is a great 
financial responsibility, sir ? " the jeweller 
observed, nervously. 

" My Department will secure you from any 
loss," King assured him, with a slight smile. 
" Better hurry. This man may be here at 
any moment." 

The jeweller obeyed orders. Cray and 
his companion postponed the examination of 
Mrs. Weiller's necklace and entered into an 
exhaustive scrutiny of the whole stock of 
waistcoat buttons. In about twenty-five 
minutes the shop door was pushed open and 
a tall, dark man, wearing a single eyeglass, 
and fashionably attired', entered the place. 
King, with the celerity of a cat, disappeared 
liehind a screen. 

" I have called for a parcel for Mrs. Jacob 
Weiller," the man announced. 

A package was handed to him and non- 
chalantly received. 

" Anything to pay ? " 

" Nothing at all," the jeweller replied. 
" No repair was necessary." 

The man left the shop. King glided out 
of his concealment. His eyes were bright 
with excitement. 

" This is more interesting than I thought," 
lie muttered. " Come along, Cray." 

The jeweller leaned forward. 

" If this is a criminal affair," he said, 
tremblingly, " I trust that you will see we 
are entirelv innocent of complicity of any 

King scarcely glanced towards him. 

" I shall make up my mind about that/* 
he replied, "* when I see whether Mr. Thor- 
nassen, as he calls himself, has been warned." 

his wife arrived at Mr. Cray's sitting- 
room at a few minutes before one. 
They found their prospective host with a 
gum-brush in bis hand and a number of 
sheets of paper before him. He welcomed 
them triumphantly. 

" George," he announced, " your letter, a 
little damaged, I am afraid, but there it is — 
quite readable, signature and all. It's taken 
me over an hour to piece it together." 

" My dear man ! " Sir George exclaimed, 
thankfully. " Where in God's name did 
you get it from ? " 

Mr. Cray smiled, opened a drawer, and 
threw a necklace upon the table. 

" From Mrs. Weiller's amber necklace, of 

" Dad," Sara murmured, throwing her 
arms round his neck, " you're wonderful ! " 

" Sir," Sir George exclaimed, in a voice 
choked with emotion, " you're a brick." 

They were still lingering over their cock- 
tails before descending to luncheon, when 
King was ushered in. He closed the door 
behind him. For such an unruffled person 
his appearance was almost remarkable. His 
eyes were bright, there was a look of concern 
in his face. 

" You've pieced it together ? Has it come 
out ? " he asked. 

" Absolutely," Mr. Cray replied. " You can 
read it for yourself — that is, if Sir George gives 
permission. What about Thornassen ? " 

King drew in a little breath. For a 
moment he made no reply. 

" A German emissary, eh ? " Mr. Cray 

King shook his head gravely. Already, 
in his agile brain, the great problems of the 
future were shaping themselves. He saw 
the new danger. 

" Thornassen," he said, gravely, " de- 
posited the sham necklace — at an embassy — 
which I must not name." 

" An embassy ? " Sir George exclaimed. 

" The embassy of one of our Allies," 
King groaned. " May I assume that that 
last cocktail is for me, Mr. Cray ? Your 
very good health. Will you allow me to 
express my acknowledgments, and to say 
that I am only sorry that that little symbol 
which you carry was not struck at our mint 
instead of at Washington." 

Mr. Cray smiled benevolently. 

" That needn't trouble you any. King," he 
said. -i I guess we're all pulling in the same 

OriainaL from 
{Another of Mr. Cray's Adventures will appear ntxt month .) 

2 4 I 


Ethel MDell 




IN the midst of a darkness that could be 
felt Fletcher Hill stood, grimly motion- 
less, waiting. He knew that strong- 
room, had likened it to a condemned 
cell every time he had entered it, and wftiv 
bitter humour he told himself that he had 
put his own neck into the noose with a 
vengeance this time. 

Not often — if ever — before had he made 
the fatal mistake of trusting one who was 
untrustworthy. He would not have dreamed 
of trusting Harley, for instance. But for 
some reason he had chosen to repose his 
confidence in Warden, and now it seemed 
that he was to pay the prise -of his rashness. 
It was that fact that galled him far more 
than the danger with which he was confronted. 
That he, Fletcher Hill— the Bloodhound— 
ever wary and keen of scent, should have 
failed to detect a ruse so transparent — this 
inflicted a wound that his pride found it 
hard to sustain. Through his lack of 
caution he had forfeited his own freedom, if 
not his life, and exposed Dot to a risk from 
the thought of which even his iron nerve 
shrank. He told himself repeatedly, with 
almost fierce emphasis, that Dot would' be 
safe, that Warden could not be such a hound 
as to fail her ; but deep within him there 
lurked a doubt which he would have given 
all he had to be able to silence. The fact 
remained that through his negligence she 
had been left unprotected in an hour of 
great danger. 

Within the narrow walls of his prison there 
was no sound save the occasional drip of 

Copyright, 193 1, 

water that oozed through the damp rock. 
He might have been penned in a vault, and 
the darkness that pressed upon him seemed 
to crush the senses, making difficult coherent 
thought. There was nothing to be done 
but to wait, and that waiting was the worst 
ordeal that Fletcher Hill had ever "been 
called upon to face. 

A long time passed — how long he had no 
means of gauging. He stood like a sentinel, 
weapon in hand, staring into the awful 
darkness, struggling against its oppression, 
fighting to keep his brain alert and ready 
for any emergency. He thought he was pre- 
pared for anything, but that time of waiting 
tried his endurance to the utmost, and when 
at length a sound other than that irregular 
drip of water came through ths deathly 
stillness he started with a violence that sent 
a smile of self-contempt to his lips. 

It was a wholly unexpected sound — just 
the ordinary tones of a man's voice speaking 
to him through the darkness where he had 
believed that there was nothing but a blank 

" Mr. Hill, where are you ? " it said. " I 
have come to get you out." .- 

Hill's hand tightened upon his revolver. 
He was not to be taken unafcvares a second 
time. He stood in absolute silence, waiting. 

There was a brief pause, then again came 
the voice. "There's not much point -in 
shooting me. You'll probably starve if you 
do. So watch out ! I'm going to show a 

Hill still stood without stirring a muscle. 
His back was to the door. He faced the 
direction of the voice. 

Suddenly, like the glare; from an explosion, 

by Ethel M. Dell. 


Without Prejudice 

a light flashed in his eyes, blinding him after 
the utter dark. He flinched from it in spite 
of himself, but the next moment he was his 
own master again, erect and stern, con- 
temptuously unafraid. 

" Don't shoot ! " said Bill Warden, with 
a gleam of his teeth, " or maybe you'll 
shoot a friend ! " 

He was standing empty-handed save for 
the torch he carried, his great figure upright 
against the wall, facing Hill with speculation 
in his eyes. 

Hill lowered his revolver. " I doubt it," 
he said, grimly. 

" Ah ! You don't know me yet, do you ? " 
said Warden, a faintly jeering note in his 

" Yes," said Hill, deliberately. " I think 
I know you — pretty well — now." 

" I wonder, " said Warden. • 

He moved slowly forward, throwing the 
light before him as he did so. The place had 
been blasted out of the rock, and here and 
there the stone shone smooth as marble 
where the charge had gone. Rough shelves 
had been hewn in the walls, leaving divisions 
between, and on some of these were stored 
bags of the precious metal that had been 
ground out of the ore. There was no sign 
anywhere of any entrance save the iron- 
bound door behind Hill. 

Straight in front of him Warden stopped. 
They stood face to face. 

11 Well ? " Warden said. " What do you 
know of me ? " 

Hill's eyes were as steel. He stood stiff as 
a soldier on parade. He answered curtly, 
without a hint of emotion. " I know enough 
to get you arrested when this — farce — is 

" Oh, you call this a farce, do you ? " 
Bill Warden's words came slowly from lips 
that strangely smiled. " And when does — 
the fun begin ? " 

HILL'S harsh face was thrown into 
strong relief by the flare of the torch. 
It was as flint confronting the other 
man. " Do you really imagine that I regard 
this sort of Forty Thieves business seriously? " 
he said. 

" I imagine it is pretty serious so far as 
you are concerned," said Warden. " You're 
in about the tightest hole you've ever been 
in in your life. And it's up to me to get you 
out — or to leave you. Do you understand 
that ? " 

" Oh, quite," said Fletcher Hill, sardoni- 
cally. " But — let me tell you at the out- 
set — you won't find me specially easy to 
bargain with on that count — Mr. Buckskin 

Bill Warden threw up his head with a 
gesture of open defiance. " I'm not doing 

any — bargaining," he said. " And as to 
arresting jne — afterwards — you can do as 
you please. But now — just now — you are 
in my power, and you're going to play my 
game. Got that ? " 

14 I can see myself doing it," said Fletcher 

" Yes, you will do it." A sudden deep 
note of savagery sounded in Warden's, voice. 
" Not to save your own skin, Mr. Fletcher 
Hill, but for the sake of — something more 
valuable than that — something more precious 
even than your cussed pride. You'll do it 
for the sake of the girl you're going to marry. 
And you'll do it — now." 

" Shall I ? " said Fletcher Hill. 

Bill Warden's hand suddenly came forth 
and gripped him by the shoulder. r< Damn 
you ! " he said. " Do you think I want to 
save your life ? " 

The words were low, spoken with a con- 
centrated passion more terrible than open 
violence. He looked closely into Hill's 
eyes, and his own were flaming like the eyes 
of a baited animal. 

Hill looked straight back at him without the 
stirring of an eyelid. " Take your hand off 
me ! " he said. 

It was the word of the superior officer. 
Warden's hand fell as it were mechanically. 
There followed a tense silence. 

Then, again briefly, authoritatively, Hill 
spoke. " What is the position ? The men 
are in revolt ? " 

" Yes." Almost involuntarily Warden's 
answer came. He looked at the elder man 
with a deference that was wholly instinctive, 
his own fierce rebellion quelled in spite of 
him. " They are out to shoot you, and — 
so far — they think I'm with them. I've let 
them think so. I can't hold them any other 

" Go on ! " commanded Fletcher Hill. 

" I can only get you out of this place as 
my prisoner." Warden spoke as one com- 
pelled. " If you will submit to that, you 
will be comparatively safe. If not — I can 
do nothing." 

" As your prisoner ! " Deliberately Hill 
uttered the words ; his eyes never left 
Warden's face. <f Put myself in your hands 
without reservation, do you mean ? " 

' 4 Yes, exactly that. It's your only 
chance." The flame in Warden's eyes had 
died down to a smoulder, but the tension of 
his attitude remained. He looked strung up 
for instant action. " You may not think 
me specially trustworthy," he said, after a 
moment. " But, after all, you've everything 
to lose if you don't. If I'd meant murder, I 
could have killed you easily when you first 
came along that passage." 

" Yes, I've thought of that," said Hill, 
dryly. " But it wouldn't have suited your 

Ethel M. Dell 


purpose just then, I take it. That was 
merely — a demonstration ' ' 

Warden made a sharp movement. " I 
did it to save your life," he said. " You'd 
have died like a dog within ten seconds if I 
hadn't turned you back." 

A curious expression crossed Hill's strong 
countenance. It was almost a smile of 
understanding. €l I am — indebted to you — 
boss," he said, and with the words very 
calmly he took his revolver by the muzzle 
and held it out. '* I surrender to you — 
without conditions." 

Bill Warden gave a sharp start of surprise. 
For an instant he hesitated, then in silence 
he took the weapon and dropped it into 
his pocket. A moment longer he looked 
Fletcher Hill straight in the eyes, then 
swung upon his heel. 

" We'll get out of this infernal hole straight 
away," he said, and, stooping, gripped his 
fingers upon a ridge of stone that ran close 
to the floor. The stone swung inward under 
his grasp, leaving a dark aperture gaping at 
his feet. Bill glanced backwards at his 

The smile still hovered in the latter's eves. 
" After you, Mr. Buckskin Bill ! " he said, 

And in silence Bill led the wav. 



*' /"\H, my dear ! " gasped Adela. ** I've 

\J had the most terrifying adventure. 
I thought 1 should never see you 
again. The men are all on strike, and they've 
sworn to kill Fletcher Hill, only no one 
knows where he is. What became of him ? 
Has he got away ? " 

" I don t know," Dot said. 

She sank into the nearest chair in the ill- 
lighted manager's office, and leaned her 
white face in her hand. 

" Perhaps he has been murdered already," 
said Adela. " Mr. Harley is very anxious 
about him. He can't hold them. And — 
Dot — just think of it ! — Warden — the man 
we saw yesterday, the sub-manager — is at 
their head. I saw him myself. He had a 
revolver in his hand. You were with 
Fletcher Hill. You must know what became 
of him ! " 

"No, I don't know," said Dot. "We 
— parted — a long time ago." 

" How odd you are ! " said Adela. " Why, 
what is the matter ? Are you going to 
faint ? " She went to the girl and bent over 
her, frightened by her look. " What is the 
matter, Dot ? What has happened to you ? 
You haven't been hurt ? " 

" I am — all right/' Dot said, with an effort. 
'' Did Mr. Harley bring you here ? " 

" Yes. And you ? How did you get 
here ? " 

" He — brought me most of the way — Mr. 
Warden," Dot said. " He has gone now -to 
save — Fletcher Hill." 

" To shoot him, more likely," said Adela. 
" He has posted sentinels all round the mine 
to catch him. I wonder if we are safe here ! 
Mr. Harley said it was a safe place. But I 
wonder. Shall we make a bolt for it, Dot ? 
Shall we ? Shall we ? " 

" I shall stay here," Dot answered. 

Adela was not even listening. " We are 
only tw r o defenceless women, and there isn't 
a man to look after us. What shall we do 
if Ah ! Heavens ! What is that ? " 

A fearful sound had cut short her specula- 
tions — a fiendish yelling as of a pack of 
wolves leaping upon their prey. Dot sat up 
swiftly. Adela cowered in a corner. 

The terrible noise continued, appalling in 
its violence. It swept like a wave towards 
the building, drowning the roar of the stream 
below. The girl at the table rose and went 
to the closed door. She gripped a revolver 
in her right hand. With her left she reached 
for the latch. 

" Don't open it ! " gasped Adela. 

But Dot paid no heed. She lifted the latch 
and flung wide the door. Her slim figure 
stood outlined against the lamplight behind 
her. Before her in a white glare of moon- 
light lay the vault-like entrance of the mine 
at the head of Barren Valley, and surging 
along the black, scarred side of the hill 
there came a yelling crowd of miners. They 
were making straight for the open door, 
but at sight of the girl standing there they 
checked momentarily and the shouting died 

SHE faced the foremost of them without a 
tremor. " What is it ? " she demanded, 
in a clear, ringing voice. ** What are 
you wanting ? " 

A man with the shaggy face of a baboon 
answered her. " You've got that blasted 
policeman in there. You stick up that gun 
of yours and let us pass ! We've got guns 
of our own, so that won't help." 

She confronted him with scorn. " Do you 
imagine I'm afraid of you and your guns ? 
There's no one here except another woman. 
Are you out to fight women to-night ? " 

" That's a lie ! " he made prompt response. 
" You've got Fletcher Hill in there, or I'm a 
nigger. You let us pass ! " 

But still she blocked the way, her revolver 
pointing straight at him. " Fletcher Hill is 
not here. And you won't come in unless 
Mr. Warden ssiya so. He is not here either 
at present. But he i» coming. And I will 


Without Prejudice 

shoot anv man who tries to force his way in 

11 Damnation ! J ' growled the shaggy- faced 
one and wheeled upon his comrades. " What 
do you sav to that, boys ? Going to let a 
woman run this show ? " 

A chorus of curses answered him, but still 
no one raised a 
revolver against 
the slender figure 
that opposed them. 
Only, after a 
moment, a cur in 
the background 
picked up a stone 
and flung it. It 
struck the door- 
post, narrowly 
missing her 
shoulder. Dot did 
not flinch, but 
immediately, with 
tightened lips h she 
raised the revolver 
and fired over their 

A furious out- 
burst followed the 
explosion, ant] in 
an instant a dozen 
revolvers were 
levelled at her. 
But in that same 
instant there enmv 
a sound like the 
roar of a lion from 
behind the build- 
ing, and with it 
Warden's .-great 
figure leapt out in- 
to the moonlight. 

*' You damned 
ruffians I " he 
yelled/; You 
d e vi Is ! >W hat are 
you doing ? " 

His anger was in 
a fashion superb, 
It dwarfed the 
anger of the crowd* 
They gave way 
before him like a 
sprang in front of 
man possessed, 

You gang of murderers I You hounds ! 
You dirty swine I Get back, do you hear ? 
I'm the boss of this show, and what I say 
goes, or K if it doesn't, I'll know the reason 
why, Benson — von doc? ! What's the mean- 
ing of this ? Do you think I'll have under 
me any coward that will badger a woman ?" 

The man he addressed looked at him with 
a cowed expression on his hairy face. f 
never wanted to interfere with her/* he 

growled. 4i But she's protecting thaf 
damned policeman. It's her own fault for 
getting in our way/' 

" You're wrong then ! " flashed back 
Warden* " Fletcher Hill is under my pro- 
tection, not hers. He has surrendered to me 
as my prisoner/' 

He sprang in (ronl of the girl, raging like a man possessed. 

herd oi beasts. He 
the girl h raging like a 

11 You've got him ? " shouted a score of 

' Yes. I've got him." Rapidly Warden 
made answer* " But I'm not going to hand 
him over to you to be murdered out of hand. 
If Tm boss of Barren Valley, I'll be boss. 
So if any of you are dissatisfied you'll have to 
reckon with me first* Fletcher Hill is my 
prisoner, and I'll see to it that he has a fair 
trrai Got that ? " 

A low murmur wert round. The'ma^net- 
ism of the man was making itself felt. He had 
that eiyctHtRbrl^ which sways the multitude 

Ethel M. Dell 


against al! reason, Single-handed, he gripped 
1 hem with colossal assurance. They shrank 
from the flame of his wrath J ike beaten dogs. 
" And before w F e deal with him/ h he went 
on, M there's someone else to be reckoned 
with. And that's Harley, Does anyone 
know where Harlev is ? " 

1 You gang of murderers ! Get back, do you hear ? * 

iB What do yon want with Harley ? " 
asked Benson, glad of this diversion. 

M Oh, just to tell him what I think of him F 
and then — to kirk him out ! " With curt 
contempt Warden threw his answer. " He's 
a traitor and a skunk — smuggles spirits one 
minute and goes to the police to sell his 
* hums the next; then back to his chums 
again to sell the police, 1 know. I've been 
watching him for some time, the cur. He'd 
shoot me if he dared." 

" He'd better ! " yelled a huge miner in 
the middle of the crowd. 

Warden laughed. " That you, Nixon ? 
Come over here ! I've' got something to tell 
you — and the other boys. It's the story of 
this blast: d mine/ 1 He turned suddenly to 
the girl who, still stood behind him in the 
lighted doorway. " Miss Burton, I'd like 
you to hear it too. Shut the door and stand 

by me ! " 

Her shining eyes 
were on his face. 
She obeyed him 
mutely, with a sub- 
mission as unques- 
tioning as that of 
the rough crowd in 
front of them. 

Very gently he 
took the revolver 
from her, drew one 
out of his own 
pocket also, and 
handed both to the 
big man called 
Nixon who had 
come to bis side, 

' Von look after 
these | f ' lie said. 
'* One is my pro- 
perty. The other 
belongs to Fletcher 
Hill - who is mv 
prisoner. Now, 
boys, you're armed. 
1 'm not. Von won't 
shoot the lady, I 
know. And for my- 
self I'll take my 

K Guess von won't 

be any the worse 

for that/' grinned 

Nixon, at his elbow. 

Warden's smile 

gleamed for an in^ 

stant in answer, but 

he passed swiftly 

on. " Did you ever 

hear of a cattle- 

thief called Buck- 

skin Bill? He 

flourished in these 

ago. There was no 

then. It was just — 

parts some five years 
mine in Barren Valley 
a smugglers* stronghold/' 

Some of the men in front of him stirred 
uneasilv, ,4 What's this to do with Fletcher 
Hill ? * asked one. 

"I'll tell you," said Warden. "Buck- 
skin Bill, the cattle-thief, was in a tight 
corner, and he took refuge in Barren Valley, 
He found the smugglers* cache — and he found 
something else that the smugglers didn't 
know of, '-ffiW^rihind- gold. It's a queer 
t h i n gLI htfe'^iiS Hiift 'i^llliendl GftltjA^Ni — (or private 


Without Prejudice 

reasons — to give up the cattle-lifting just 
two days before. The police were hot after 
him, but they didn't catch him, and the 
smugglers didn't catch him either. He 
dodged 'em all, and when he left he said to 
himself, 'I'll be the boss of Barren Valley 
when I come back.' After that he went 
West and starved a bit in the Australian 
desert till the cattle episode had had time to 
blow over. Then — it's nearly two years ago 
now — he came back. The first person he 
ran into was — Fletcher Hill, the policeman." 

He paused with that dramatic instinct 
which was surely part-secret of his fascina- 
tion. He had caught the full attention of 
the crowd, and held them spellbound. 

In a moment he went on. " That gave 
him an idea. Hill, of course, was after other 
game by that time and didn't spot him. 
Hill was a magistrate and a civil power at 
Wallace town. So Bill went to him, knowing 
he was straight, anyway, and told him about 
the gold in Barren Valley, explaining, bold 
as brass, that he couldn't run the show him- 
self for lack of money. Boys, it was a rank 
speculation, but Hill was a sport. He caught 
on. He came to Barren Valley, and they 
tinkered round together, and they found 
gold. That same night they came upon the 
smugglers, too — only escaped running into 
them by a miracle. Hill didn't say much. 
He's not a talker. But after they got back 
to Wallacetown he made an offer to Buckskin 
Bill which struck him as being a very sporting 
proposition for a policeman. He said, ' If 
you care to take on Barren Valley and make 
an honest concern of it, I'U.get the grant 
and do the backing. The labour is there,' 
he said, ' but it's got to be honest labour or I 
won't touch it.' It was a sporting offer, 
boys, and, of course, Bill jumped. And so 
a contract was drawn up which had to be 
signed. And 4 What's your name ? ' said 
Fletcher Hill." Warden suddenly began to 
laugh. ." On my oath, he didn't know what 
to say, so he just. caught at the first honest- 
sounding t name he could think of. ' For- 
tescue,' he said. Hill didn't ask a single 
question. * Then that mine shall be called the 
For tescue Gold Mine,' he said. 'And you'll 
work it and make an honest man's job of it.' 
It was a pretty big undertaking, but it sort 
of appealed to Buckskin Bill, and he took it 
on. The only real bad mistake he ma,de was 
when he trusted Harley. Except for that, 
the thing worked — and worked well. The 
smuggling trade isn't what it was, eh, boys ? 
That's because Fortescue — and Fletcher Hill 
— are using up the labour for the mine. And 
you may hate 'em like hell, but you can't get 
.away from the fact that this mine is run fair 
and decent, and there isn't a man here who 
doesn't stand a good chance of making his 
fortune if he plays a straight game. It's 

been a*chance to make good for every one ol 
us, and it's thanks to Fletcher Hill — because 
he hasn't asked questions — because he's just 
taken us on trust — and I'm hanged if he 
doesn't deserve something better than a bullet 
through his brain, even if he is a magistrate 
and a policeman and a man of honour. Have 
you got that, boys ? Then chew it over and 
swallow it ! And when you've done that, 
I'll tell you something more." 

" Oh, let's have it all, boss, now you're at 
it ! " broke in Nixon. " We sha'n't have 
hysterics now. We're past that stage." 

WARDEN turned with a lightning 
movement and laid his hand upon 
the girl beside him. " Gentlemen," 
he said, "it's Fletcher Hill — and not Buck- 
skin Bill — who's the boss of this valley. 
And he's a good boss — he's a sportsman 
— he's a maker of men. And this lady 
is going to be his wife. You're going to 
stand by her, boys. You aren't going to 
make a widow of her before she's married. 
You aren't going to let a skunk like Harley 
make skunks of you all. You're sportsmen, 
too — better sportsmen than that stands for — 
better sportsmen, maybe, than I am myself. 
What, boys ? It's your turn to speak now." 

" Wait a bit ! " said Nixon. " You haven't 
quite finished yet, boss." 

" No, that's true." Warden paused an 
instant, then abruptly went forward a pace 
and stood alone before the crowd. " I've 
taken a good many chances in my life," he 
said. " But now I'm taking the biggest of 
'em all. Boys, I 'm a damned impostor. I ' ve 
tricked you all, and it's up to you to stick me 
against a wall and shoot me as I deserve, 
if you feel that .way. For I'm Bucksldh 
Bill — I'm Fortescue — and I'm several kinds 
of a fool to think I could ever carry it 
through. Now you know ! " 

With defiant recklessness he flung the 
words. They were more of a challenge than 
a confession. And having spoken them he 
moved straight forward with the moonlight 
on his face till he stood practically among 
the rough crowd. 

They opened out to receive him, almost 
as if at a word of command. And Buckskin 
Bill, with his head high and his blue eyes 
flaming, went straight into them with the 
gait of a conqueror. , M 

Suddenly, with a passionate gesture, he 
stopped, flinging up his emptv right hand. 
" Well, boys, well ? What's "the verdict ? 
I'm in your hands." 

And a great hoarse roar of enthusiasm 
went up as they closed around him that was 
like the bursting asunder of mighty flood- 
gates. They surged about him. They lifted 
him on their shoulders. They yelled like 
maniacs and fixed theix revolvers in the air 

Ethel M. Dell 


It was the wildest outbreak that Barren 
Valley had ever heard, and to the girl who 
watched it, it was the most marvellous 
revelation of a man's magnetism that she 
had ever beheld. Alone he had faced and 
conquered a multitude. 

It pierced her strangely, that fierce en- 
thusiasm, stirring her as personal danger had 
failed to stir. She turned with the tears 
running down her face and found Fletcher 
Hill standing unnoticed behind her, silently 
looking on. 

" Oh, isn't he great ? Isn't he great ? " 
she said. 

He took her arm and led her within. His 
touch was kind, but wholly without warmth. 
4t There's not much doubt as to who is the 
boss of Barren Valley/' he said. 

And with the words he smiled — a smile 
that was sadder than her tears. 



THAT life could possibly return to a 
normal course after that amazing night 
would have seemed to Dot pre- 
posterous but for the extremely practical 
attitude adopted by Fletcher Hill. But 
when she saw him again on the day after 
their safe return to Trelevan there was 
nothing in his demeanour to remind her of 
the stress through which they had passed. 
He was, as ever, perfectly calm and self- 
contained, and wholly uncommunicative. 
Adela sought in vain to satisfy her curiosity 
as to the happenings in Barren Valley which 
her courage had not permitted her to witness 
for herself. Fletcher Hill was as a closed 
book, and on some points Dot was equally 
reticent. By no persuasion could Adela 
induce her to speak of Bill Warden. She 
turned the subject whenever it approached 
him, professing an ignorance which Adela 
found excessively provoking. 

They saw nothing of him during the re- 
mainder of the week, and very little of 
Fletcher Hill, who went to and fro upon his 
business with a machine-like precision that 
seemed to pervade his every action. He made 
no attempt to be alone with Dot, and she, 
with a shyness almost overwhelming, thank- 
fully accepted his forbearance. The day 
they had fixed upon for their marriage was 
rapidly approaching, but she had almost 
ceased to contemplate it, for somehow it 
seemed to her that it could never dawn. 
Something must happen first ! Surely some- 
thing was about to happen ! And from day 
to day she livefl for the sight of Bill Warden's 
great figure and the sound of his steady 
voice. Anything, she felt, would be bearable 

if only she could see him once again. But 
she looked for him in vain. 

When her brother joined them at the end 
of the week a dullness of despair had come 
upon her. Again she saw herself trapped 
and helpless, lacking even the spirit to 
attempt escape. She greeted Jack almost 
abstractedly, and he observed her throughout 
the evening with anxiety in his eyes. When 
it was over he drew her aside for a moment 
as she was bidding him good-night. 

" What's the matter, little 'un ? What's 
wrong ? " he whispered, with his arm about 

She clung to him for an instant with a 
closeness that was passionate. But, " It's 
nothing. Jack," she whispered back. " It's 

Then Fletcher Hill came up to them, and 
they separated. Adela and Dot went up to 
bed, and the two men were left alone. 

SO at length the great day dawned, and 
nothing had happened. The only news 
that had reached them was a remark 
overheard by Adela in the dining-room, to 
the effect that Harley had thrown up his 
post and gone. 

Dot dressed for her wedding with a dazed 
sense of unreality. Her attire was of the 
simplest. She wore a hat instead of a veil. 
It was to be a quiet ceremony in the early 
morning, for neither she nor Hill desired any 
unnecessary parade. When she descended 
the stairs with Adela, Jack was the only 
person awaiting her in the hall. 

He looked at her searchingly as she came 
down to him, then without a word he took 
her in his arms and kissed her white face. 
She saw that he was moved, and wondered 
within herself at her own utter lack of 
emotion. Ever since she had lain against 
Bill Warden's breast, the wild sweet rapture 
of his hold had seemed to paralyse in her all 
other feeling. She knew only the longing 
for his presence, the utter emptiness of a 
world that held him not. 

She drove to the church with her hand in 
Jack's, Adela talking incessantly the whole 
way while they two sat in silence. It was a 
bare building in the heart of the town, but 
its bareness did not convey any chill to her. 
She was already too numbly cold for that. 

She went up the aisle between Jack 
and Adela, because the latter good-naturedly 
remarked that she might as well have as 
much support as she could get. But before 
they reached the altar-steps Fletcher Hill 
came to meet them, and Adela dropped 
• behind. 

He also looked for a moment closely into 
Dot's face, then very quietly he took her 
cold hand from Jack and drew it through 
his UfflyER^iie ^laiKe^i^glf,] him with a 


Without Prejudice 

1 And 90 she came to Bill Warden waiting before the ahar. THcy met — and all the 

r«t w« blotted iflivBEITY OF MICHIGAN 

Ethel M. Dell 


momentary nervousness as Jack also fell 

Then some unknown force drew her as the 

magnet draws the needle, and she looked 

towards the altar. A man was standing- by 

the steps awaiting her. She saw the free 

carriage of the great shoulders, the' deep fire 

of the blue eyes. And suddenly her heart gave 

a wild throb that was anguish, and stood still. 

; Fletcher Hill's arm went round her. He 

held her for a * second closely to liim — more 

closely than he had ever held her before. 

• But — it came to her later — he did not utter a 

single word. He only drew h^r on. 

( ; And so she came to Bill Warden waiting 

j'Tbefore the altar. They met — and all the rest 

! was blotted out. 

' She went through that service in a breath- 

[ le§s wonderment, an atiiazenient that yet 

t was strangely free from distress. For Bill 

1 Warden's hand clasped hers throughout, 

save when Fletcher Hill tdok it from hka for 

a* moment to give her away. ' 

When it was over, and they knelt together 

•in the streaming sunshine of the morning, 

. she felt as if they two were alone in an inner 

sanctuary that was filled with the Love of 

God. Later, those sacred moments were the 

. holiest memory of her life 

Then a strong arm lifted and held her. 
She turned from the hoiy place with a faint 
sigh of regret, turned to meet Fletcher Hill's 
eyes looking at her with that in them which 
she was never to forget. 

His voice was the first to break through 
the wonder-spell that bound her. 

" Do you think you will ever manage to 
forgive me ? " he said. 

She turned swiftly from the arm that 
encircled her, and impulsively she put her 
hands upon his shoulders, offering him her 
lips. " Oh, I don't — know— what — to say," 
she said, brokenly. 

.' He bent and gravely kissed her. "My 
d#ar, there is nothing to be said so far as I 
ani concerned," he said. " If you are liappy, 
I am satisfied." 

It was briefly spoken, but it went straight 

to her heart. She clung to him for a moment 

without words, and that was all the tharfks 

she ever offered him. For there was nothing 

. to "be said. 

VERY late on the evening of that 
wonderful day she sat with Bill 
Warden on the edge of a rock over- 
looking a fertile valley of many waters in 

the Blue Mountains, and heard, with her 
hand in his, the amazing story of the past 
few days, which had seemed to her so 
curiously dream-like. 

"I fought hard against ^marrying you," 
Bill told her, with the smile she had remem- 
bered for so long. " But he had me at every 
turn — simply rolled me out and wiped the 
ground with me. Said he'd clap me into 
prison if I didn't, and when I said 'AH 
right ' to that,, he turned on me like a tiger 
and asked if I wanted to break your heart. 
Oh, he made me feel a ten -times swab, I can 
tell you. And when I said I didn't want you 
to marry an uncaught criminal, lie just 
looked me over and- said, ' You' v$ sown 
your wild oats. As your partner/ I am 
sponsor for your respectability.' I knew 
what .that meant, knew he'd stand by me 
through thick and thin,' Whatever turned 
up>. It was the official seal with a ven- 
.geance, for what Fletcher Hill says goes 
in these parts. But it went against the 
gram, little new chum. It made me sick 
with myself. I hatec( playing his game 
against himself. It was the vilest thing I 
ever did. I couldn't have done it — except 
for you." 

The little hand that held his tightened. 
She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. 
" Shall I tell you something ? " she whis- 
pered. " I couldn't have done it either — 
except for — you." 

His arm clasped her. "I'm such a poor 
sort of creature, darling," he said. " I'll 
work for you— live for you— die for you. 
But I shall never be worthy of you." 

She lifted her face to his in the gathering 
darkness. " Dear love," she said, " do you 
remember how — once — you asked me to 
treat you — without prejudice ? But I never 
have — and I don't believe I ever shall. 
Fletcher Hill is right to trust you. He is a 
judge of men. But I — I am only the woman 
who loves "you, and — somehow — whichever 
way I take you — I'm always prejudiced^ — in 
your favour." 

The low words ended against his lips. He 
kissed her closely^ passionately. " My little 
chum," he said, " I will be worthy— I will be 
worthy — so' help me God 1 " . 

He was near to tears as he uttered his 
oath ; but presently, when he turned back her 
sleeve to kiss the place where first his lips 
had lingered, they laughed together— the 
tender laughter of lovers in the happy 
morning-tinie of life. 

by Google 

Original from 


Dr. Ethel Smyth, the well-known musician, is also widely known as tKe 
author of that delightful volume of reminiscences, " Impressions That 
Remained." AATe think that our readers will agree that she has written 
nothing more striking and interesting than the following' description of 

Queen Victoria. 


J&o G/impses of 





\J U U 

IN ' Impressions That Remained/' 
speaking of our kind friend and 
neighbour, the Empress Eugenie, I 
mentioned that she had always been 
interested in the efforts of women to over- 
come sex-prejudice, and had taken action 
during the Second Empire towards that 
end. It was about a year after my career 
as public musician began that I came to 
know her well, and from the very first 
she followed my proceedings with the 
greatest sympathy. The fate 
of my Mass for solo voices 
and chorus, which, so far t 
existed in pianoforte score 
only, interested her parties 
larly, because most of it had 
been written while I was 
staying with her at Cap 
Martin ; and, being wholly 
unmusical herself— a great 
asset in a musical patron — - 
she readily accepted the 
composer's estimate of its 
worth I 

I do not think that she 
was less delighted than I 
myself when, in the autumn 
of iS^i, Mr. Barnby (later 
Sir Joseph), Director of the 
Royal Choral Society, pro- 
visionally accepted tlie .Mass 
for production at the Albert 
Hall. By " provisionally " 
I mean that I could nut 
get him to fix a date, but 
the general idea was that 
the performance would be 
iti the second half of the ensuing 
season— that is, about March, 1802, 

Dr. Ethel Smyth, 

i'toto EUlatt A Fry. 

Mr. Barnby f s reluctance to name the 
day rather troubled me, and the Empress 
thought it would help matters if she com* 
missioned me to inform liim that she herself 
might possibly be present— a wonderful 
concession to friendship, for since 1870 she 
had refused to appear officially in any 
public place. 

This proposal of hers, which I should 
never have dared to suggest, showed how 
thoroughly she had grasped the musical 
situation in England, where, 
even before the war denuded 
the country of concert-going 
Germans, good music does not 
pav. That being so, com- 
posers who have money fight 
their way with it, and those 
who have not try to get up a 
little boom — which comes to 
the same thing. If you can- 
not afford to distribute dozens 
of tickets among friends and 
supporters, the public mast 
be induced to buy: and Sir 
Thomas Beecham once said 
that the safest plan would be 
to introduce an elephant that 
can stand on its trunk, or 
some such spot of relief, into 
every concert programme. 

In this spirit* then, did the 
Empress tackle my problem. 
Further, learning that the 
Duke of Edinburgh was Presi- 
dent of the Royal Choral 
Society, she thought there 
could be no harm in mani- 
festing her ■■s'vnipathv for me under the 
eves ^JfKR^ygFlMGArA 11 excellent 

Dr. Ethel Smyth 


opportunity of doing so lay to hand : it had 
been for many years the Queen's habit to 
put one of her Scotch houses at the 
Empress's disposal during the autumn 
months, and thus it came to pass that 
in October I was invited to join her at 

Birkhall was a Laird's house, not big, but 
comfortable, about eight miles from Bal- 
moral, and in the midst of most beautiful 
scenery. My first amazed impression had 
nothing to do with the landscape, however, 
but with the Empress herself. Oh, horror ! 
She, who loathed caps and never wore them, 
now appeared at the front door with a little 
erection of black lace on her small, beauti- 
fully-poised head ! What did this portend ? 
It portended that the Queen did not approve 
of capless old ladies, and this compromise 
was the result. I was indignant at such 
pusillanimity on her part, but she only 
laughed and said what on earth did it 
signify ? "Si cela fait plaistr h voire 
Reine ! " 

THE day after my arrival the Duke and 
Duchess of Connaught and Prince Henry 
of Battenberg came over to see her, 
and as the Duchess and the Prince were 
both fond of music I was asked to sing. 
Following on that, the Queen sent a message 
to say that when she came to pay her own 
visit next day I was to be presented. 

Mrs. R. Crawshay, whose jokes I am never 
weary of repeating, once said to an old lady 
from South Africa who had remarked that 
you mustn't play games with the English 
climate : ''No : or, at least, only indoor games!" 
But the Queen's life was one long outdoor 
game with the Scotch climate — a still more 
uncertain playfellow ; and next day a storm 
was raging that, whatever one may say about 
the fleeting character of Scotch storms, began 
at breakfast and lasted till nightfall. I 
could never have believed that any old lady 
would venture out in such weather, but I 
was informed, and it proved to be true, that 
the, Queen would infallibly turn up, and 
probably in an open carriage ; also, that her 
ladies would wear the minimum of wraps, 
as the Queen herself never caught cold and 
had a great objection to being crowded out 
by rugs and furs. 

Some of her ladies were old and- frail, but 
the rigours of a Scotch " waiting," including 
a north-east wind with rain, were evidently 
nullified by the glow of loyalty within their 
bosoms. On the other hand, dread of dis- 
pleasing " the dear Queen," as she was always 
called (and rightly, for, if dreaded, she was 
greatly beloved), may have had something 
to do with it. Terror often acts as a tonic, 
and the first rule in the Primer for Courtiers 
— a fine rule that fashipns heroes and 

, VoL lxL-17. 

heroines — is : " Thou shalt not be ill." 
Anyhow, I never heard of any of her ladies 
dying of pneumonia, as might have been 
expected, after these terrific drives, that 
sometimes lasted hours and hours. 

The Queen was expected at three o'clock, 
but long before that hour the Empress was 
scouting in passages and peering into the 
storm-tossed garden to make sure that 
the coast was clear, for the Queen had the 
greatest horror of coming across stray people. 
Indeed, I know of a case where an unlucky 
Maid of Honour, surprised in the corridor of 
Windsor Castle by the unexpected appear- 
ance of Her Majesty in the far distance, 
remained concealed and trembling behind a 
curtain for half an hour while the Empress 
of India was supervising the placing of 
tributes from an Indian Prince. And when 
the Royal carriage arrived at Birkhall, but 
for the Empress, Mme. Arcos, and the foot- 
men, it might have been a deserted house. 

The Empress and Mme. Arcos received 
the Queen and Princess Christian at the 
front door, and the red carpet, unrolled in a 
flash, was sopping wet before the august 
visitors had time to set foot on it. The 
three Royal ladies then disappeared into 
the drawing-room, while Mme. Arcos and 
Lady Ampthill, who was in waiting on the 
Queen, came into the room where I, in 
another sense, was also in waiting. Presently 
the Empress herself looked in, beckoned to 
me, I followed — and lo ! I was in the 

Seated on one of the ordinary cane-chairs, 
no doubt because easier to get up from, was 
a wee little old lady with exactly the face of 
the photographs, though paler than one ex- 
pected — on her head a close white straw hat, 
tied under her chin with a black ribbon (the 
only possible plan, given the storm and an 
open barouche). It is a well-known fact 
that, in spite of a physique that did not lend 
itself to effects of majesty, the personality 
of the Queen was imposing to the last degree 
— such was the dignity that enwrapped it. 
The first impression was so awe-inspiring 
that I should have been terrified but for the 
wonderful blue, child-like eyes, and the 
sweetest, most entrancing smile I have ever 
seen on human face. 

The Empress had told me that, though the 
Queen had chronic sciatica, and walked with 
a stick, she never permitted anyone to help 
her out of her chair, even when that chair 
had no arms. Much to my astonishment, 
she now got up to shake hands with me, 
lifting herself with a sort of one, two, three, 
and away movement, which it took all one's 
strength of character not to assist with a 
hand under her elbow. 

I carmot remember what passed at that 
interview except that she was markedly 

2 5 2 

Two Glimpses of Queen Victoria 

kind, and that Princess 
Christian, who, as I was 
1 ( j find out later, always 
knew what was the help- 
ful thing to say, and 
said it, at once remarked 
that she had heard a 
great deal about me 
from the Bishop of 
Rochester and his wife, 
the point being that 
the Bishop (who is now 
Archbishop of Canter- 
bury) had been Dean of 
Windsor, and, besides 
txing the Queen's Pri- 
vate Chaplain, was one 
of her most valued 
friends and advisers. 
A further passport to 
favour was the fact 
that I could claim to 
be connected with the 
Bishop, his brother 
having married my 
eldest sister. 

It was not the Queen's 
way, and not according 
to the tradition she had 
been brought up in, to 
put you at your ease, as 
some Sovereigns do, and 
bring about anything 
distant I y approach! ng 
conversation. But the 

Empress, who was the most socially com- 
petent of beings, talked away cheerfully in 
her own easy, delightful fashion, all in adopt- 
ing a manner I had hitherto seen no trace of, 
and which was reserved exclusively for the 
Queen — something of the manner of an un- 
embarrassed but attentive child talking to 
its grandmother. 

Presently I was asked to sing, and sang 
several German songs, which seemed to 
please my audience so highly that the Empress 
was emboldened to say : " You ought to 
hear her sing her Mass ! Jl Whereupon I 
performed the Benedictus and the Sanctus 
after the manner of composers, which means 
singing the chorus as well as the solo parts, 
and trumpeting forth orchestral effects as 
best you can — a somewhat noisy proceeding 
in a small room, I had warned the Empress 
that if I did it at all it would be done in that 
fashion, and being a most courageous 
woman she took the responsibility — with no 
dire results, as subsequent events were to 
prove. Indeed, she remarked afterwards 
that beyond doubt the Queen really was 
delighted w^th this novel experience, not 
merely being polite. 

The Queen then expressed a hope that the 
Empress %vould bring me to Balmoral, after 

"An unlucky Maid of Honour, surprised by 

the unexpected appearance of Her Majesty, 

remained concealed and trembling behind a 

curtain (or half an hour.*" 

which I was dismissed and joined the official 
ladies in the other room. There we had tea, 
and I listened for the first time, in high 
edification, to the delicate and guarded style 
of intercourse that appears to be the right 
thing between such interlocutors. The 
storm, which had somewhat abated in 
honour of the Queen's arrival, ^vas now 
raging more wildly than ever, the rain de- 
scending like one continuous waterfall * It 
was hardly possible to hear oneself speak, 
but 1 managed to ask I-ady Arnpthill if the 
Queen would have the carriage shut going 

itching their 

Dr. Ethel Smyth 


departure from behind a curtain a little later 
on, I saw that this incredible prediction was 
fulfilled — and my ideas on the subject of 
what " Queen's weather " really amounts to 
were modified for evermore. 

The Empress told us, after she was gone, 
that from first to last the Queen made not 
the slightest comment on the tempest, nor 
any move to depart till a gilly came banging 
at the drawing-room door, and said : " Your 
Majesty must go — the horses can't stand 
this " — the sort of thing not one of her chil- 
dren would have dared to say, unless, per- 
haps, the Empress Frederick. 

In due time came the promised command, 
and one evening I found myself struggling 
to achieve as presentable a toilette as pos- 
sible, having been bidden, with the Empress, 
to dine at Balmoral. At the last moment 
she herself put a few finishing touches, pro- 
ducing and arranging upon my head a grand 
jet serpent, and disposing other jetty splen- 
dours about my person, for the Court was 
(as usual) in mourning. 

I, of course, dined with the Household — 
such an everyday affair to hundreds of people 
that they would hardly deem it worth talk- 
ing about. But to me it was a new, interest- 
ing, and rather alarming experience ; nor 
has custom staled the impression, for it 
remained solitary of its land. 

To begin with, the dinner service impressed 
me. My own dog, Marco, ate off a tin 
platter, and often, when cutting away gristle 
or severing bones for him, I had shuddered 
at the contact of steel and metal. But the 
first time your own knife and fork are privi- 
leged to scratch about on gold and silver 
plate, unpleasant as it. is, you are impressed. 
I was impressed, too, by the air of dis- 
tinguished boredom, combined with a well- 
bred but unmistakable consciousness of 
occupying an enviable position, that people 
about a Court invariably distil — as I was to 
find out in after years. And again, as at 
Birkhall, the Agag-like gait of the conversa- 
tion was extremely impressive. I cannot 
claim to be constitutionally shy, which may 
be a sign of conceit, and may, on the other 
hand, indicate that the drama itself, and not 
your own part in it, absorbs most of your 
attention ; but surely, I said to myself, the 
genius of this place must affect even the most 
brazen ! 

With what invisible pitfalls is one sur- 
rounded, how terrible must be the penalties 
incurred by one false step, since all are 
keyed up, as a matter of habit, to this 
extraordinarily high pitch ! No ups and 
downs of mood here, no enthusiasm, no 
individual opinions, and^for Heaven's sake, 
no originality ! If the writing on the wall 
were to reveal itself (for there is writing on 
every wall, could one but detect it) you 

would read these words : " Corners rounded 
off here while you Wait." 

All the same, however, dinner was very 
pleasant. I had met one or two of the 
Equerries and Maids of Honour at the 
Deanery, and as Tosti, the song-writer, 
whom I liked extremely, sat on one side of 
me, I was quite sorry when the doors were 
flung open by scarlet-liveried footmen — 
signal that the Queen was ready for our 

I MUST now nerve myself to recount the 
story of one of the most appalling blunders 

I ever committed in my life ; even to-day, 
though I can laugh about it, the thought of 
it gives me a slight sinking ! ... At the 
moment, though conscious of having sinned 
against ritual, I did not realize the full 
enormity of my crime — you must have been 
bred to Courts to do that. And though, as 
time went on, I grasped it exhaustively, 
somehow or other I shrank from cross- 
questioning the Empress on the subject. 
For one thing, so great was her kindness that 
she would have attenuated my faux pas ; 
for another, knowing what her agony must 
have been as she watched her young friend's 
proceedings, I fancied she would prefer not 
to live through it all again ! Finally, truth 
to tell, the whole thing was humiliating to 
me to think of ! Despicable, no doubt, to 
take it as hard as all that, but so it was. 

Why no one prepared me for the situation 
I was about to become part of, why no one 
gave me a hint how to comport myself in it, 
I cannot imagine. The Empress was always 
thinking out and guarding against eventu- 
alities in what seemed to me almost a feverish 
fashion, yet this time she said not a word, 
and I can only suppose she felt certain that 
my darkness would be enlightened by Mme. 
Arcos or one of the Maids of Honour. But 
it was not, and when we left the dinner-table, 
being the only guest of my sex present, I 
gaily headed the procession drawing-room- 
wards, my mind innocently set on making 
myself agreeable when I got there. 

It was a large room, with deep bay- 
windows, and the first thing I noticed was 
that the sofas and chairs were tightly up- 
holstered in the gay Stuart tartan — a proof 
that to be Queen of Scotland involves painful 
aesthetic concessions. 

On a large hearthrug — tartan too, I think 
— in front of the grate, in which I rather 
fancy a few logs burned (though, given Her 
Majesty's hardy habits, it seems improbable), 
stood the Queen, conversing with the Empress 
in a lively manner that contrasted with the 
somewhat halting intercourse at Birkhall. 
Evidently, I said to myself, the animating 
effects of a good dinner may be counted on 
even at the less frivolous European Courts. 


Two Glimpses of Queen Victoria 

Leading up to the two august ladies was 
an avenue composed of Royal personages, 
ranged, a$ I afterwards found out, in order of 
precedence, the highest in rank being closest 
to the hearthrug, which avenue, broadening 
towards its base, gradually became mere 
ladies and gentlemen of the Court, and finally 

believed that what I did do was to advance 
unconcernedly up the avenue, with a polite 
intention to say *' How do you do " to the 
Queen ? . . . 

If a young dog strays up the aisle during 
church no one says anything, no one does 
anything, but, none the less, he soon becomes 

" Af the distance between myself and the hearthrug diminished, I became aware that 
turn her head, look at me (or a second as if I were a strange insect* and 

petered out in a group of Maids of Honour, 
huddled in gloriously in the bay-window. 

What I ought to have done, I believe, was 
to stand rigid and silent among these last, 
endeavouring to catch the eye of the Queen 
and the Princesses, curtsy profoundly when 

■ccessful, and await events. Will it be 

aware that something is wrong. Even so, 
as the distance between myself and the 
hearthrug diminished, did I become aware 
that something was very wrong indeed * my 
cheerful ccnfidt:nct waned and my step 

Dr. Ethel Smyth 


some strange insect, and resume her con- 
versation with the Empress. If I had been 
a Brobdingnagian spider as big as a retriever 
she would not have acted differently, Some- 
one would remove the creature ; that was 
enough, I did not catch the Empress's eye, 
but I now know that since she could not 

exists outside 

backed away into the obscurity from which 
I should never have emerged. 

Afterwards I heard all about that Hearth- 
rug, and could gauge the dimensions of my 
own audacity. It was as sacred a carpet as 
Mohammedanism, and the 
distance from it at which 
people were permitted to 
station themselves— if in- 
vited to come near it at 
all— was the measure of 
their rank and importance. 
Only crowned heads trod it 
as a right, or occasionally, 
as supreme honour, some 
very favourite Minis ter, like 
Lord Beaconsfield. If such 
as I had set foot upon it, 
as, but for the blessed inter- 
vention of Princess Christian, 
I might have done — but, 
no ! a miracle would have 
been wrought, a thunderbolt 
would have fallen upon a 
tartan sofa and created a 
diversion. Something — any- 
thing would have happened 
rather than such sacrilege 
could have been permitted [ 

something was very WTong indeed. I saw the Queen slightly 
resume her conversation with the Empress/' 

shriek : " Mon Dieu t n'avancez pas t " she 
must have wished the earth would open and 
swallow her up. At this moment dear, 
human Princess Christian, who had come 
more in contact with low life than the Queen, 
stepped forward and shook hands with me— 
and somehow or other, I know not how, I 

When the legitimate 
moment came for my pre- 
sence being recognized by 
the Queen, I cannot recall 
how it was accomplished ; 
whether she went the round 
of the company, or whether 
I was summoned to her 
chair. But whichever it 
was, my scandalous entry 
was evidently condoned, 
for nothing could be more 
gracious than her manner. 
And presently, having re- 
ceived the command to 
" Let us hear some more 
of your Mass/' I was seated 
at a huge, yawning grand 
piano, with the Queen and 
the Empress right and left, 
in closest proximity. I ven- 
tured to ask whether the 
music was to be rendered as 
at Birkhall — for such a pro- 
ceeding seemed unthinkable 
in these surroundings — but 
I was assured that exactly that rendering 
was " so very interesting/ 1 and would be 

1 looked round the frozen ranks of im- 
pending li&'tenere; each one of them exhaling 

\1iu1x oeneatu <l wiuilii hi.hiju iict>e ueen a 


Two Glimpses of Queen Victoria 

more kindlingtnise-en-scine for an inspirational 
effort on a large scale. Not because of the 
Royalties, who one and all showed genuine 
and kindly interest, but because of their 
inevitable adjunct — the " Court " ! Straight 
in the line of vision, glued against a distant 
wall, stood Lord Cross, the Minister in 
Attendance, looking startlingly like his cari- 
cature in Punch, " very Cross." I after- 
wards learned that I had not a more appre- 
ciative listener in the room. But how could 
one guess that ? Well, there was nothing 
for it but to concentrate upon the Mass. 

Strange to relate, once I got under way 
there was something inspiring in the very 
incongruity of the whole thing, the desperate- 
ness of such a venture I Never did I get 
through one of these performances better, nor 
enjoy doing it more. I cannot remember 
what numbers I chose, but the Sanctus must 
have been one of them, for in it is a D trum- 
pet which I remember rang out astonish- 
ingly in that superbly acoustic drawing-room. 
I dared not let my eyes wander in the direc- 
tion of the listeners while the high D was 
being held, lest what I might see should 
wreck everything ; but I need not have 
been afraid, as I was to learn presently. 

And now, emboldened by the sonority of 
the place, I did the Gloria — the most tem- 
pestuous and, I thought, the best number of 
all. At a certain drum effect a foot, even, 
came into play, and I fancy that, as regards 
volume of sound at least, the presence of a 
real chorus and orchestra was scarcely 
missed ! This time, fortified by the sim- 
plicity and genuineness of the Sovereign's 
appreciation, I thought I would risk a glance 
at the faces of her terrifying Court. What 
matter if astonishment and secret scandaliza- 
tion be there depicted ? I was firm in the 
saddle now, not easily to be thrown ! 

I glanced. They were stupendous. No 
surprise, no emotion of any kind — a spec- 
tacle so exciting, because so fantastic, that 
the result was a finale to that Gloria such as 
I had never before succeeded in wresting out ! 

ONCE more the Queen seemed really 
delighted — whether for the Empress's 
sake or because she liked it, who 
shall say ? Anyhow, the Hereditary Grand 
Duke of Hesse, who was a cultivated 
musician, seemed really to understand 
what he had been listening to, and so 
did Princess Christian, who was constantly 
in touch with serious music and musicians. 
And I could see that the beloved Empress, 
in spite of the incident in the Royal avenue, 
did not repent her of the role she had under- 
taken — according to her (for I have said she 
accepted the composer's view of the Mass) 
the role of a foreigner who introduces a gifted 
Englishwoman to the Queen of England ! 

Then Tosti, accompanying himself, sang 
some favourite songs of his ,own composition 
with exquisite blending of voice, phrasing, 
and accompaniment. It was small art, but 
real art. Most of the people to whom I 
expressed an ecstasy that even the prevailing 
discretion could not damp, replied instan- 
taneously, as if uttering one of the responses 
in church : " Yes, but what a pity his voice 
is so small ! " And I perceived that this 
was the accepted formula for Tosti. 

When the Queen said " Good night " to 
me she added a hope " that we shall see you 
at Windsor," and then she and her Imperial 
guest moved towards a special Rcyal exit ; 
for though the Empress, the Marquess of 
Bassano (who lyas in attendance on her), 
Mme. Arcos, and I were all driving home in 
the same carriage, it would never do for 
us three to go out by the same door as a 
crowned head. 

This was lucky, for I now had the chance 
of witnessing a wonderful bit of ritual. 
Arrived on the threshold, the while we mortals 
stood rigid, the Queen motioned the Empress 
to pass before her ; this the Empress grace- 
fully declined to do. They then curtsied 
low to each other. The movement of the 
Queen, crippled though she was, was amaz- 
ingly easy and dignified, but the Empress, 
who was then sixty-seven, made an exquisite 
sweep down to the floor and up again, all in 
one gesture, that I can only liken to a flower 
bent and released by the wind. They then 
passed together out of the door, practically 
shoulder to shoulder ; but I believe, though 
far be it from my ignorance to dogmatize, 
that on such occasions the visiting Sovereign 
is permitted to permit the home Sovereign 
to lag about one inch behind. 

Thinking of that superb reverence of the 
Empress's which I am everlastingly glad to 
have seen, I have reflected that every bone 
in her body must have been placed true in 
its socket to the millionth part of an inch ; 
that her proportions must have been perfect, 
the fibre of her muscles, the texture of her 
skin, of the most superb quality, and that 
this is probably what the word " beauty " 
means. Otherwise, so unbroken, so undu- 
lating was the motion, that one could only 
explain it by what an old Irish servant 
remarked to a conspicuously active friend of 
mine, temporarily crippled with sciatica : 
" To think of you like this, you that goes 
flourishing about as if you hadn't a bone in 
your body ! " 

I may add that the Empress was not 
required to drain the cup of humiliation to 
the dregs that night, inasmuch as the black 
jet serpent did not come down in coils over 
my face during the Gloria, as might have 
been frrpectcd, but not till v;e were safe in 
the carriage and half-way home. 





IT was the holiday season, and during 
the holidays the Greens Committees 
have decided that the payment of 
twenty guineas shall entitle fathers of 
families not only to infest the course them- 
selves, but also to decant their nearest and 
dearest upon it in whatever quantity they 
please. All over the links, in consequence, 
happy, laughing groups of children had 
broken out like a rash. A wan-faced adult, 
who had been held up for ten minutes while 
a drove of issue quarrelled over whether 
little Claude had taken two hundred or two 
hundred and twenty approach shots to reach 
the nintfi green, sank into a seat beside the 
Oldest Member. 

" What luck ? " inquired the Sage. 
" None to speak of," returned the other, 
moodily. " I thought I had bagged a small 
boy in a Lord Fauntleroy suit on the sixth, 
but he ducked. These children make me 
tired. They should be bowling their hoops 
in the road. Golf is a game for grown-ups. 
How can a fellow play, with a platoon of 
progeny blocking him at every hole ? " 

The Oldest Member shook his head. He 
could not subscribe to these sentiments. 

NO doubt (said the Oldest Member) the 
summer golf-child is, from the point of 
view of the player who likes to get round 
the course in a single afternoon, something of 
a trial ; but, personally, I confess, it pleases 
me to see my fellow human beings — and into 
this category golf-children, though at the 
moment you may not be broad-minded enough 
to admit it, undoubtedly fall — taking to the 
noblest of games at an early age. Golf, like 
measles, should be caught young, for, if post- 
poned to riper years, the results may be 
serious. Let me tell you the story of Mor- 
timer Sturgis, which illustrates what I mean 
rather aptly. 

Mortimer Sturgis, when I first knew him, 

Copyright, 1921, by 

was a care-free man of thirty-eight, of 
amiable character and independent means, 
which he increased from time to tin^e by 
judicious ventures on the Stock Exchange. 
Although he had never played golf, his had 
not been altogether an ill-spent life. He 
swung a creditable racket at tennis, was 
always ready to contribute a baritone solo to 
charity concerts, and gave freely to the poor. 
He was what you might call a golden-mean 
man, good-hearted rather than magnetic, 
with no serious vices and no heroic virtues. 
For a hobby, he had taken up the collecting of 
porcelain vases, and he was engaged to Betty 
Weston, a charming girl of twenty-five, a 
lifelong friend of mine. 

I liked Mortimer. Everybody liked him. 
But, at the same time, I was a little surprised 
that a girl like Betty should have become 
engaged to him. As I said before, he was 
not magnetic ; and magnetism, I thought, 
was the chief quality she would have de- 
manded in a man. Betty was one of those 
ardent, vivid girls, with an intense capacity 
for hero-worship, and I would have supposed 
that something more in the nature of a 
plumed knight or a corsair of the deep would 
have been her ideal. But, of course, if there 
is a branch of modern industry where the 
demand is greater than the supply, it is the 
manufacture of knights and corsairs ; and 
nowadays a girl, however flaming her aspira- 
tions, has to take the best she can get. I 
must admit that Betty seemed perfectly 
content with Mortimer. 

Such, then, was the state of affairs when 
Eddie Denton arrived, and the trouble 

I was escorting Betty home one evening 
after a tea-party at which we had been 
fellow-guests, when, walking down the road, 
we happened to espy Mortimer. He broke 
into a run when he saw us, and galloped up, 
waving d piece of paper in ids hand. He was 

P. G. Wodchouse. 

2 5 8 

A Mixed Threesome 

plainly excited, a thing which was unusual 
in this well-balanced man. His broad, good- 
humoured face was working violently. 

" Good news ! " he cried. " Good news I 
Dear old Eddie's back ! " 

' Oh, how nice for you, dear ! " said Betty. 
*' Eddie Denton is Mortimer's best friend," 
she explained to me. " He has told me so 
much about him. I have been looking for- 
ward to his coming home. Mortie thinks the 
world of him." 

" So will you, when you know him," cried 
Mortimer. " Dear old Eddie ! He's a won- 
der ! The best fellow on earth ! We were 
at school and the 'Varsity together. There's 
nobody like Eddie ! He landed yesterday. 
Just home from Central Africa. He's an . 
explorer, you know," he said to me. " Spends 
all his time in places where it's death for a 
white man to go." 

" An explorer ! " I heard Betty breathe, 
as if to herself. I was not so impressed, I 
fear, as she was. Explorers, as a matter of 
fact, leave me a trifle cold. It has always 
seemed to me that the difficulties of their life 
are greatly exaggerated — generally by them- 
selves. In a large country like Africa, for 
instance, I should imagine that it was almost 
impossible for a man not to get somewhere 
if he goes on long enough. Give me the 
fellow who can plunge into the bowels of 
the earth at Piccadilly Circus and find the 
right Tube train with nothing but a lot of 
misleading signs to guide him. However, 
we are not all constituted alike in this world, 
and it wis apparent from the flush on her 
cheek and the light in her eyes that Betty 
admired explorers. 

" I wired to him at once," went on Morti- 
mer, " and insisted on his coming down here. 
It's two years since I saw him. You don't 
know how I have looked forward, dear, to 
you and Eddie meeting. He is just your 
sort. I know how romantic you are and 
keen on adventure and all that. Well, you 
should hear Eddie tell the story of hew he 
brought down the bull bongo with his last 
cartridge after ail the pongos, or native 
bearers, had fled into the dorigo, or under- 

" I should love to ! " whispered Betty, 
her eyes glowing. I suppose to an im- 
pressionable girl these things really are of 
absorbing interest. For myself, bongos in- 
trigue me even less than pongos, while dongos 
frankly bore me. " When do you expect 
him ? " 

" He will get my wire to-night. I'm 
hoping we shall see the dear old fellow to- 
morrow afternoon some time. How sur- 
prised old Eddie will be to hear that I'm 
engaged. He's such a confirmed bachelor 
himself. He told me once that he con- 
idered the wisest thing ever said by human 

tongue was the Swahili proverb — ' Whoso 
taketh a woman into his kraal depositeth 
himself straightway in the wongo.' Wongo, 
he tells me, is a sort of broth composed of 
herbs and meat-bones, corresponding to our 
gumbo. You must get Eddie to give it you 
in the original Swahili. It sounds even 

I saw the girl's eyes flash, and there came 
into her face that peculiar set expression 
which married men know. It passed in an 
instant, but not before it had given me 
material for thought which lasted me all 
the way to my house and into thf silent 
watches of the night. I was fond of Morti- 
mer Sturgis, and"I could see trouble ahead 
for him as plainly as though I had been a 
palmist reading his hand at two guineas a 
visit. There are other proverbs fully as wise 
as the one which Mortimer had translated 
from the Swahili, and one of the wisest is 
that quaint old East London saying, handed 
down from one generation of costermongers 
to another, and whispered at midnight in 
the wigwams of the whelk-sellers : " Never 
introduce your donah to a pal." In those 
seven words is contained the wisdom of the 

I could read the future so plainly. What 
but one thing could happen after Mortimer 
had influenced Betty's imagination with his 
stories of his friend's romantic career, and 
added the finishing touch by advertising him 
as a woman-hater ? He might just as well 
have asked for his ring back at otice. My 
heart bled for Mortimer. 

I HAPPENED to call at his house on the 
second evening of the explorer's visit, 

and already the mischief had been done. 

Denton was one of those lean, hard-bitten 
men with smouldering eyes and a brick-red 
complexion. He looked what he was, the 
man of action and enterprise. He had the 
wiry frame and strong jaw without which 
no explorer is complete, and Mortimer, 
beside him, seemed but a poor, soft product 
of our hot-house civilization. Mortimer, I 
forgot to say, wore glasses ; and, if there is 
one time more than another when a man 
should not wear glasses, it is while a strong- 
faced, keen-eyed wanderer in the wilds is 
telling a beautiful girl the story of his 

For this was what Denton was doing. My 
arrival seemed to have interrupted him in 
the middle of a narrative. He shook my 
hand in a strong, silent sort of way, and 
resumed : — 

" Well, the natives seemed fairly friendly, 
so I decided to stay the night." 

I made a mental note never to seem fairly 
friendly to an explorer. If you do, he always 
decides to *>tav the night. 

P. G. Wodehousc 


Mortimer broke into a run when he saw us. ' Good news I * be cried. 

' Good news 1 "OfTlv ERMTY OTMTL H I'll?, hf 


A Mixed Threesome 

* In the morning they took me down to 
the river/ At this point it widens into a 
kongo, or pool, and it was here, they told me, 
that the crocodile mostly lived, subsisting 
on the native oxen — the short-horned jongos 
— which, swept away by the current while 
crossing the ford above, were carried down 
on the longos, or rapids. It was not, how- 
ever, till the second evening that I managed 
to catch sight of his ugly snout above the 
surface. I waited around, and on the third 
day I saw him suddenly come out of the 
water and heave his whole length on to a 
sandbank in mid-stream and go to sleep in 
the sun. He was certainly a monster — fully 
thirty — you have never been in Central 
Africa, have you, Miss Weston ? No ? You 
ought to go there ! — fully fifty feet from tip 
to tail. There he lay, glistening. I shall 
never forget the sight." 

HE broke off to light a cigarette. I heard 
Betty draw in her breath sharply. 
Mortimer was beaming through his 
glasses with the air of the owner of a dog 
which is astonishing a drawing-room with its 
clever tricks. 

' 'And what did you do then, Mr. Denton ? " 
asked Betty, breathlessly. 

** Yes, what did you do then, old chap ? " 
said Mortimer. 

Denton blew out the match and dropped 
it on the ash-tray. 

" Eh ? Oh," he said, carelessly, " I swam 
across and shot him." 

" Swam across and shot him ! " 

" Yes. It seemed to me that the chance 
was too good to be missed. Of course, I 
might have had a pot at him from the bank, 
but the chances were I wouldn't have hit 
him in a vital place. So I swam across to the 
sandbank, put the muzzle of my gun in his 
mouth, and pulled~the trigger. I have rarely 
seen a crocodile so taken aback." 

" But how dreadfully dangerous ! " 

'• Oh, danger ! " Eddie Denton laughed 
lightly. " One drops into the habit of taking 
a few risks out there, you know. Talking 
of danger, the time when things really did 
look a little nasty was when the wounded 
gongo cornered me in a narrow tongo and I 
only had a pocket-knife with everything in 
it broken except the corkscrew and the thing 
for taking stones out of horses' hoofs. It 
was like this " 

I could bear no more. I am a tender- 
hearted man, and I made some excuse and 
got away. From the expression on the 
girl's face I could see that it was only a 
question of days before she gave her heart to 
this romantic newcomer. 

As a matter of fact, it was on the following 

*rnoon that she called on me and told me 
the worst had happened. I had known 

her from a child, you understand, and she 
always confided her troubles to me. 

" I want your advice," she began. " I'm 
so wretched ! " 

She burst into tears. I could see the poor 
girl was in a highly nervous condition, so I 
did my best to calm her by describing how I 
had once done the long hole in four. My 
friends tell me that there is no finer soporific, 
and it seemed as though they may be right, 
for presently, just as I had reached the point 
where I laid my approach-putt dead from a 
distance of fifteen feet, she became quieter. 
She dried her eyes, yawned once or twice, and 
looked at me bravely. 

" I love Eddie Denton ! " she said. 

" I feared as much. When did you feel 
this coming on ? " 

" It crashed on me like a thunderbolt last 
night after dinner. We were walking in the 
garden, and he was just telling me how he 
had been bitten by a poisonous zongo, when 
I seemed to go all giddy. When I came 
to myself I was in Eddie's arms. His face 
was pressed against mine, and he was 

" Gargling ? " 

" I thought so at first. But he reassured 
me. He was merely speaking in one of the 
lesser-known dialects of the Walla- Walla 
natives of Eastern Uganda, into which he 
always drops in moments of great emotion. 
He soon recovered sufficiently to give me a 
rough translation, and then I knew that he 
loved me. He kissed me. I kissed him. 
We kissed each other." 

" And where was Mortimer all this while ? " 

" Indoors, cataloguing his collection of 

For a moment, I confess, I was inclined to 
abandon Mortimer's cause. A man, I felt, 
who could stay indoors cataloguing vases 
while his fiancee wandered in the moonlight 
with explorers deserved all that was coming 
to him. I overcame the feeling. 

" Have you told him ? " 

" Of course not." 

" You don't think it might be of interest 
to him ? " 

" How can I tell him ? It would break 
his heart. I am awfully fond of Mortimer. 
So is Eddie. We would both die rather than 
do anything to hurt him. Eddie is the soul 
of honour. He agrees with me that Mortimer 
must never know." 

" Then you aren't going to break off your 
engagement ? " 

" I couldn't. Eddie feels the same. He 
says that, unless something can be done, he 
will say good-bye to me and creep far, far 
away to some distant desert, and there, in 
the great stiffness, broken only by the cry of 
the prowling yengo, try to forget." 

" When you say unless something can be 

P. G. Wodehouse 


Mortimer wore glasses \ and if there is a time when a man should not wear glasses it is 
while a strong- faced, keen -eyed wanderer in the wilds is telling a beau ti ful girl the story 

of his adventures," 

done,' what do vou mean ? What can be 
done ? " 

" I thought you might have something to 
suggest. Don't you think it possible that 
somehow Mortimer might take it into his 
head to break the engagement himself ? " 

" Absurd ! He loves you devotedly/* 

"I'm afraid so. Only the other day 1 
dropped one of his best vases, and he just 
smiled and said it didn't matter," 

" I can give you even better proof than 
that- This morning Mortimer came to me 
and. asked me to.give him .secret lessons in 

goifLffnvffixm of^iIlhigAn 


A Mixed Threesome 

" Golf ! But he despises golf." 

" Exactly. But he is going to learn it for 
your sake." 

" But why secret lessons ? " 

" Because he wants to keep it a surprise 
for your birthday. Now can you doubt his 
love ? " 

" I am not worthy of him ! " she whispered. 

The words gave me an idea. 

" Suppose," I said, " we could convince 
Mortimer of that ! " 

" I don't understand." 

" Suppose, for instance, he could be made 
to believe that you were, let us say, a dipso- 

She shook her head. " He knows that 

" What ! " 

" Yes ; I told him I sometimes walked in 
my sleep." 

" I mean a secret drinker." 

" Nothing will induce me to pretend to be 
a secret drinker." 

" Then a drug-fiend ? " I suggested, hope- 

" I hate medicine." 

" I have it ! " I said. " A kleptomaniac." 

" What is that ? " 

" A person who steals things." 

" Oh, that's horrid." 

" Not at all. It's a perfectly ladylike 
thing to do. You don't know you do it." 

" But, if I don't know I do it, how do I 
know I do it ? " 

" I beg your pardon ? " 

" I mean, how can I tell Mortimer I do it 
if I don't know ? " 

" You don't tell him. I will tell him. I 
will inform him to-morrow that you called 
on me this afternoon and stole my watch 
and " — I glanced about the room — ' my 
silver matchbox." 

"I'd rather have that little vinaigrette." 

" You don't get either. I merely say you 
stole it. What will happen ? " 

" Mortimer will hit you with a cleek." 

" Not at all. I am an old man. My 
white hairs protect me. What he will do 
is to insist on confronting me with 
you and asking you to deny the foul 

" And then ? " 

" Then you admit it and release him from 
his engagement." 

She sat for a while in silence. I could see 
that my words had made an impression. 

" I think it's a splendid idea. Thank you 
very much." She rose and moved to the 
door. " I knew you would suggest some- 
thing wonderful." She hesitated. " You 
don't think it would make it sound more 
plausible if I really took the vinaigrette ? " 
she added, a little wistfully/ 

" It would spoil everything," I replied, 

firmly, as I reached for the vinaigrette and 
locked it carefully in my desk. 

She was silent for a moment, and her 
glance fell on the carpet. That, however, 
did not worry me. It was nailed down. 

" Well, good-bye," she said. 

" Au revoir," I replied. " I am meeting 
Mortimer at six-thirty to-morrow. You may 
expect us round at your house at about 

MORTIMER was punctual at the tryst 
next morning. When I reached the 
tenth tee he was already there. We 
exchanged a brief greeting and I handed 
him a driver, outlined the essentials of grip 
and swing, and bade him go to it. 

" It seems a simple game," he said, as he 
took his stance. " You're sure it's fair to 
have the ball sitting up on top of a young 
sand-hill like this ? " 

" Perfectly fair." 

" I mean, I don't want to be coddled 
because I'm a beginner." 

" The ball is always teed up for the drive,'* 
I assured him. 

" Oh, well, if you say so. But it seems to 
me to take all the element of sport out of 
the game. Where do I hit it ? " 

" Oh, straight ahead." 

'• But isn't it dangerous ? I mean, suppose 
I smash a window in that house over there ? " 

He indicated a charming bijou residence 
some five hundred yards down the fairway. 

" In that case," I replied, " the owner 
comes out in his pyjamas and offers you the 
choice between some nuts and a cigar." 

He seemed reassured, and began to address 
the ball. Then he paused again. 

" Isn't there something you say before you 
start ? " he asked. " ' Five,' or something ? " 

" You may say ' Fore ! ' if it makes you 
feel any easier. But it isn't necessary." 

" If I am going to learn this silly game," 
said Mortimer, firmly, " I am going to learn 
it right Fore ! " 

I watched him curiously. I never put a 
club into the hand of a beginner without 
something of the feeling of the sculptor who 
surveys a mass of shapeless clay. I ex- 
perience the emotions of a creator. Here, I 
say to myself, is a semi-sentient being into 
whose soulless carcass I am breathing life. 
A moment before, he was, though technically 
living, a mere clod. A moment hence he 
will be a golfer. 

While I was still occupied with the?e 
meditations Mortimer swung at the ball. 
The club, whizzing down, brushed the sur- 
face of the rubber sphere, toppling it off the 
tee and propelling it six inches with a slight 
slice on it. , 

" Damnation 1 " said Mortimer, unravel- 
ling hUttWfl "51 TV OF MICHIGAN 

P. G. Wodehouse 


I nodded approvingly. His drive had not 
been anything to write to the golfing journals 
about, but he was picking up the technique 
of the game. 

" What happened then ? " 

I told him in a word. 

" Your stance was wrong, and your grip 
was wrong, and you moved your head, and 
swayed your body, and took your eye off the 
ball, and pressed, and forgot to use your 
wrists, and swung back too fast, and let the 
hands get ahead of the club, and lost your 
balance, and omitted to pivot on the ball of 
the left foot, and bent your right knee." 

He was silent for a moment. 

44 There is more in this pastime/' he 
said, " than the casual observer would sus- 

I HA VE noticed, and I suppose other people 
have noticed, that in the golf education of 

every man there is a definite point at which 
he may be said to have crossed the dividing 
line — the Rubicon, as it were — that separates 
the golfer from the non-golfer. This moment 
comes immediately after his first good drive. 
In the ninety minutes in which I instructed 
Mortimer Sturgis that morning in the rudi- 
ments of the game, he made every variety of 
drive known to science ; but it was not till 
we were about to leave that he made a good 

A moment before he had surveyed his 
blistered hands with sombre disgust. 

" It's no good," he said. " I shall never 
learn this beast of a game. And I don't want 
to either. It's only fit for lunatics. Where's 
the sense in it ? Hitting a rotten little ball 
with a stick ! If I want exercise, I'll take a 
stick and go and rattle it along the railings. 
There's something in that ! Well, let's be 
getting along. No good wasting the whole 
morning out here." 

'* Try one more drive, and then we'll go." 

" All right. If you like. No sense in it, 

He teed up the ball, took a careless stance, 
and flicked moodily. There was a sharp 
crack, the ball shot off the tee, flew a hundred 
yards in a dead straight line never ten feet 
above the ground, soared another seventy 
yards in a graceful arc, struck the turf, rolled, 
and came to rest within easy mashie distance 
of the green. 

" Splendid ! " I cried. 

The man seemed stunned. He blinked. 

44 How did that happen ? " 

I told him very simply. 

41 Your stance was right, and your grip was 
right, and you kept your head still, and didn't 
sway your body, and never took your eye off 
the ball, and slowed back, and let the arms 
come well through, and rolled the wrists, and 
let the club-head lead, and kept your balance, 

and pivoted on the ball of the left foot, and 
didn't duck the right knee." 

" I see," he said. " Yes, I thought that 
must be it." 

44 Now let's go home." 

44 Wait a minute. I just want to remember 
what I did while it's fresh in my mind. Let 
me see, this was the way I stood. Or was it 
more like this ? No, like this." He turned 
to me, beaming. " What a great idea it was, 
my taking up golf ! It's all nonsense what 
you read in the comic papers about people 
foozling all over the place and breaking clubs 
and all that. You've only to exercise a little 
reasonable care. And what a corking game 
it is ! Nothing like it in the world ! I 
wonder if Betty is up yet. I must go round 
and show her how I did that drive. A per- 
fect swing, with every ounce of weight, wrist, 
and muscle behind it. I meant to keep it a 
secret from the dear girl till I had really 
learned, but of course I have learned now. 
Let's go round and rout her out." 

He had given me my cue. I put my hand 
on his shoulder and spoke sorrowfully. 

11 Mortimer, my boy, I fear I have bad 
news for you." 

" Slow back — keep the head What's 

that ? Bad news ? " 

41 About Betty." 

44 About Betty ? What about her ? 
Don't sway, the body — keep the eye on 
the " 

" Prepare yourself for a shock, my boy. 
Yesterday afternoon Betty called to see me. 
When she had gone I found that she had 
stoleo my silver matchbox." 

" Stolen your matchbox ? " 

" Stolen my matchbox ! " 

" Oh, well, I dare say there were faults on 
both sides," said Mortimer. " Tell me if I 
sway my body this time." 

-i You don't grasp what I have said ! Do 
you realize that Betty, the girl you are going 
to marry, is a kleptomaniac ? " 

" A kleptomaniac ! " 

44 That is the only possible explanation. 
Think what this means, my boy. Think how 
you will feel every time your wife says she is 
going out to do a little shopping ! Think of 
yourself, left alone at home, watching the 
clock, saying to yourself, ' Now she is lifting 
a pair of silk stockings ! ' ' Now she is hiding 
gloves in her umbrella ! ' ' Just about this 
moment she is getting away with a pearl 
necklace ! ' " 

" Would she do that ? " 

" She would ! She could not help herself. 
Or, rather, she could not refrain from helping 
herself. How about it, my boy ? " 

44 It only draws us closer together," he 

I was touched; I own. My scheme had 
failed, but it had proved- .Mortimer Sturgis 


A Mixed Threesome 

to be of pure gold. He stood gazing down 
the fairway, wrapped in thought. 

" By the way," he said, meditatively, " I 
wonder if the dear girl ever goes to any of 
those sales — those auction-sales, you know, 
where you're allowed to inspect the things 
the day before ? They often have some 
pretty decent vases." 

He broke off and fell into a reverie. 

FROM this point onward Mortimer Sturgis 
proved the truth of what I said to you 
about the perils of taking up golf at 
an advanced age. A lifetime of observing 
my fellow-creatures has convinced me that 
Nature intended us all to be golfers. In every 
human being the germ of golf is implanted at 
birth, and suppression causes it to grow and 
grow till — it may be at forty, fifty, sixty — it 
suddenly bursts its bonds and sweeps over 
the victim like a tidal wave. The wise man, 
who begins to play in childhood, is enabled 
to let the poison exude gradually from his 
system, with no harmful results. But a man 
like Mortimer Sturgis, with thirty-eight 
golfless years behind him, is swept off his 
feet. He is carried away. He loses all 
sense of proportion. He is like the fly that 
happens to be sitting on the wall of the dam 
just when the crack comes. 

Mortimer Sturgis gave himself up without 
a struggle to an orgy of golf such as I have 
never witnessed in any man. Within two 
days of that first lesson he had accumulated 
a collection of clubs large enough to have 
enabled him to open a shop : and he went 
on buying them at the rate of two and three 
a day. On Sundays, when it was impossible 
to buy clubs, he was like a lost spirit. True, 
he would do his regular four rounds- on the 
day of rest, but he never felt happy. The 
thought, as he sliced into the rough, that the 
patent wooden-faced cleek which he intended 
to purchase next morning might have made 
all the difference, completely spoiled his 

I remember him calling me up on the 
telephone at three o'clock one morning to 
tell me that he had solved the problem of 
putting. He intended in future, he said, to 
use a croquet mallet, and he wondered that 
no one had ever thought of it before. The 
sound of his broken groan when I informed 
him that croquet mallets were against the 
rules haunted me for days. 

His golf library kept pace with his collection 
of clubs. He bought all the standard works, 
Subscribed to all the golfing papers, and, 
when he came across a paragraph in a maga- 
zine to the effect that Mr. Hutchings, an ex- 
amateur champion, did not begin to play till 
he was past forty, and that his opponent 
in the final, Mr. S. H. Fry, had never held 
a club till ' his thirty-fifth year, he had it 

engraved on velium and framed and hung 
up beside his shaving-mirror. 

AND Betty, meanwhile ? She, poor child, 
stared down the years into a bleak future, 
in which she saw herself parted for ever 
from the man she loved, and the golf-widow 
of another for whom — even when he won a 
medal for lowest net at a weekly handicap 
with" a score of a hundred and three minus 
twenty-four — she could feel nothing warmer 
than respect. Those were dreary days for 
Betty. We three — she and. I and Eddie 
Denton— -often talked over Mortimer's strange 
obsession. Denton said that, except that 
Mortimer had not come out in pink spots, 
his symptoms were almost identical with 
those of the dreaded mongortnongo, the scourge 
of the West African hinterland. Poor 
Denton ! He had already booked his pas- 
sage for Africa, and spent hours looking in 
the atlas for good deserts. 

In every fever of human affairs there comes 
at last the crisis. We may emerge from it 
healed or we may plunge into still deeper 
depths of soul-sickness : but always the 
crisis comes. I was privileged to be present 
when it came in the affairs of Mortimer 
Sturgis and Betty Weston. 

I had gone into the club-house one after- 
noon at an hour when it is usually empty, 
and the first thing I saw, as I entered the 
main room, which looks' out on the ninth 
green, was Mortimer. He was grovelling, on 
the floor, and I confess that, when I caught 
sight of him, my heart stood still. I feared 
that his reason, sapped by dissipation, had 
given way. I knew that for weeks, day in 
and day out, the niblick had hardly ever 
. been out of his hand, and no constitution 
can stand that. 

He looked up as he heard my footstep. 

*• Hallo," he said. " Can you see a ball 
anywhere ? " 

" A ball ? " I backed away, reaching for 
the door-handle. " My dear boy," I said, 
soothingly, " you have made a mistake. 
Quite a natural mistake. One anybody 
would have made. But, as a matter of fact, 
this is the club-house. The links are outside 
there. Why not come away with me very 
quietly and let us see if we can't find some 
balls on the links ? If you will wait here a 
moment, I will call up Doctor Smithson. 
He was telling me only this morning that he 
wanted a good spell of ball-hunting to put 
him in shape. You don't mind if he joins 
. us ? " 

"It was a Silver King with my initials on 
it," Mortimer went on, not heeding me. *" I 
got on the ninth green in eleven with a nice 
mashie-niblick, but my approach putt was a 
little too strong. It came in through that 


P. G. Wodehouse 


Mortimer looked up. ' Can you see a balk anywhere ? * he said. * My approach putt 
was a little too strong. It came in through that window/ * 

I perceived for the first time that one of 
the windows facing the course was broken, 
and my relief was great. I went down on my 
knees and helped him in his search. We 
ran the ball to earth finally inside the piano, 

IjWhat's the local rule ? " inquired Mor- 
timer, " Must I play it where it lies, or 
may I tee up and lose a stroke ? If I have 
to play it where it lies, I suppose a niblick 
would be the club ? " 

It was at this moment that Betty came in. 
One glance at her pale, set face told me that 
there was to be a scene, and I would 

have retired, but that she was between me 
and the door* 

11 Hallo, dear," said Mortimer, greeting 
her with a friendly waggle of his niblick. 
" I'm bunkered in the piano, My approach 
putt was a little strong, and I over-ran the 

" Mortimer," said the girl, tensely, " I 
want to ask you one question/' 

" Yes, dear ? I wish, darling, you could 
have seen my drive at the eighth just now. 
It was a nip? 


A Mixed Threesome 

" Are we engaged," she said, " or are we 
not ? " 

" Engaged ? Oh, to be married ? Why, of 
course. I tried the open stance for a change, 

" This morning you promised to take me 
for a ride. You never appeared. Where 
were you ? " 

" Just playing golf." 

" Golf ! I'm sick of the very name ! " 

A spasm shook Mortimer. 

" You mustn't let people hear you saying 
things like that ! " he said. " I somehow 
felt, the moment I began my up-swing, that 
everything was going to be all right. I " 

"I'll give you one more chance. Will you 
take me for a drive in your car this evening ? " 

".I can't." 

" Why not ? What are you doing ? " 

" Just playing golf ! " 

" I'm tired of being neglected like this ! " 
cried Betty, stamping her foot. Poor girl, I 
saw her point of view. It was bad enough 
for her being engaged to the wrong man, 
without having him treat her as a mere 
acquaintance. Her conscience fighting with 
her love for Eddie Denton had kept her true 
to Mortimer, and Mortimer accepted the 
sacrifice with an absent-minded carelessness 
which would have been galling to any girl. 
" We might just as well not be engaged at all. 
You never take me anywhere." 

" I asked you to come with me to watch 
the Open Championship." 

" Why don't you ever take me to dances ? " 

" I can't dance." 

" You could learn." 

" But I 'm not sure if dancing is a good thing 
for a fellow's game. You never hear of any 
first-class pro dancing. James Braid doesn't 

" Well, my mind's made up. Mortimer, 
you must choose between golf and me." 

" But, darling, I went round in a hundred 
and one yesterday. You can't expect a 
fellow to give up golf when he's at the top 
of his game." 

" Very well. I have nothing more to say. 
Our engagement is at an end." 

" Don't throw me over, Betty," pleaded 
Mortimer, and there was that in his voice 
which cut me to the heart. " You'll make 
me so miserable. And, when I'm miserable, 
I always slice my approach shots." 

Betty Weston drew herself up. Her face 
was hard. 

V Here is your ring ! " she said, and swept 
from the room. 

F>R a moment after she had gone Mor- 
timer remained very still, looking at the 
glistening circle in his hand. I stole 
across the room atid patted his shoulder. 

" Bear up, my boy, bear up ! " I said. 

He looked at me piteouslv. 

" Stymied ! " he muttered. 

" Be brare ! " 

He went on, speaking as if to himself. 

" I had pictured — ah, how often I had 
pictured ! — our little home ! Hers and mine J 
She sewing in her arm-chair, I practising 

putts on the hearthrug " He choked. 

' While in the corner, little Harry Vardon 
Sturgis played with little J. H. Taylor 
Sturgis. And round the room — reading, 
busj- with their childish tasks — little George 
Duncan Sturgis, Abe Mitchell Sturgis, Harold 
Hilton Sturgis, Edward Ray Sturgis, Horace 
Hutchinson Sturgis, and little James Braid 

" Mv bov ! My boy ! " I cried. 

" What's the matter ? " 

" Weren't you giving yourself rather a 
large family ? " 

He shook his head moodilv. 

" Was I ? " he said, dully. " I don't 
know. What's bogey ? " 

There was a silence. 

" And yet " he said, at last, in a low 

voice. He paused. An odd,* bright look 
had come into his eyes. He seemed suddenly 
to be himself again, the old, happy Mortimer 
Sturgis I had known so well. " And yet," 
he said, " who knows ? Perhaps it is all for 
the best. They might all have turned out 
tennis-players f " He raised his niblick again, 
his face aglow. " Playing thirteen ! " he 
said. " I think the game here would be to 
chip out through the door and work round 
the club-house to the green, don't you ? " 

Little remains to be told. Betty and 
Eddie have been happily married for years. 
Mortimer's handicap is now down to eighteen, 
and he is improving all the time. He was 
not present at the wedding, being un- 
avoidably detained by a medal tournament : 
but, if you turn up the files and look at the 
list of presents, which were both numerous 
and costly, you will see — somewhere in the 
middle of the column, the words : — 


Two dozen Silver King Golf- 
balls and one patent Sturgis 
Aluminium Self - Adjusting, Self- 
Compensating Putting-Cleek. 

by Google 

Original from 









• ■-. 










> ^- 

^arvd Koiu io play it 


I HAVE often been asked which, in my 
experience t I have found to be the 
most popular of the pianoforte works 
of Beethoven with the general concert 
public. I have no doubt that it is the 
Sonata in C sharp minor, commonly called 
the "Moonlight Sonata/' that is the most 
universally beloved by all sorts and con- 
ditions of people, and it may therefore be of 
special interest to give here a few facts con- 
cerning the history of this noble work, 
together with my 

views for the in- 
terpretation of the 
first movement, 
from which the 
Sonata derives its 
title. The moment 
is opportune, for the 
one hundred and 
fiftieth anniversary 
of the birth of 
Beethoven has re- 
cently been cele- 

The Sonata in C 
sharp minor, which 
was entitled by 
Bee t ho ven himself 
11 Qiiasi una Fan- 
tasia/' was one of 
two sonatas written 
in the year 1801 and 
published in March, 
1802, and forming 
together Opus 27. 
These years of 180 r 
and 1802 were of 
great creative ac- 
tivity on the part 
of Beethoven, and 
his works produced 
during this time 
belong to what is 


generally classified as the Master's second 
period. Grove says that the Sonata in 
C sharp minor was dedicated to the 
Contessa Gulietta Guicciardi, and much 
romance has been invented on this score. 
But the lady herself rather discounts this 
romance by recounting how Beethoven gave 
her the Rondo in G, and then, wanting to 
dedicate something to the Princess Lichnow- 
sky, he took the Rondo away and gave the 
Contessa the " Moonlight Sonata " in its 

place. In my own 
edition of the So- 
nata, which is an 
old one published 
by Hallberger in 
Stuttgart in 1858, 
and edited by Mos- 
cheles, the pianist, 
a personal friend of 
Beethoven, it is 
stated to be dedi- 
cated to the Princess 
of Liechtenstein. 
The title, "The 
Moonlight/* was 
supposed to have 
been given to the 
Sonata by Rellstab, 
a celebrated con- 
temporary musical 
critic, w h o com- 
pared the first 
movement to a 
moonlight scene on 
the Lakeof Lucerne. 
But it may also have 
received the name 
from a publisher 
who, after the cus- 
tom of publishers, 
christened several 
this portrait has Nor befo^J |J^'(^4fj|tD0 F^^l C hfl^j ^i^et hoven's SO- 
this country. natas by various 




The " Moonlight Sonata " 


Example No. I , bars 1 -4. 

titles in order to make them more popular 
with the public (such as the " Path6tique," 
" Pastorale/' " Les Adieux, L' Absence, Le 
Retour," etc.). I myself think the title 
of " MoonUght " not inappropriate to the 
spirit of the first movement of the C sharp 
minor Sonata, which reflects the romantic 
atmosphere and mysterious light and shade 
connected with the presence of the moon. 
But certainly the last movement has nothing 
to do with moonlight, but represents a great 
storm of emotion, when all is cloud, wind, 
and fury. 

The Sonata in C sharp minor was a great 
favourite from the moment of. its publica- 
tion, and Beethoven jokingly even pretended 
to be annoyed about it, as he considered 
many of his other sonatas to be finer works 
musically ; but still the " Moonlight Sonata " 
remains the popular favourite. Probably the 
fact that, technically, the lovely slow move- 
ment with which it commences is well within 
the reach of very moderate performers on 
the pianoforte may help 
to account for its extreme 
popularity over its fellows, 
since so many amateurs 
are able to derive pleasure 
from their own rendering 
of it. Beethoven wrote 
thirty-two sonatas in all, 
of which certainly nearly 
half are still as beloved 
and admired as ever they 
were, and continue to form an absolutely 
essential part of the repertoire of every 
pianist. He brought the sonata form to 
its highest perfection, and, having found 
the models of his predecessors too stilted 
and formal for the wider expression of 
his thoughts, he made innovations of 
what in those days were considered the 
most daring kind, and improved upon the 



forms he found. Like all original men of 
genius, he could not tolerate being fettered 
by conventions, and his mighty spirit soared 
untrammelled. The €l Moonlight Sonata " is 
one of Beethoven's most original composi- 
tions of the so-called second period of his 
works, and in it he shows his freedom of 
thought by commencing the Sonata with an 
adagio movement which is not in sonata 
form, and which was at the time an entire 
innovation. In fact, the whole work is a 
precursor of the modern sonata. According 
to Beethoven's own directions the three 
movements were to be played straight 
through to the end without a break. He 
puts " Attacca subito il sequente " after 
each movement, showing that the three 
movements were designed to represent a con- 
tinuous thread of thought running through- 
out the whole work. This unusual and free 
treatment of the Sonata's structure has im- 
parted to it a modernity and freshness which 
ensure it an everlasting place in the literature 
of the pianoforte. 

The first movement of 
the "Moonlight Sonata" 
C frf '£ t- T consists of a haunting and 

7\J \JJ* beautiful melody, full of 

romance and pathos, float- 
ing on a continuous stream 
of undulating harmony. 
The interpretation of it 
should be of -the highest 
imagination, glowing with 
a quiet radiance of fantasy and feeling. The 
tone employed must be warm and melting 
in quality, imparting at the same time the 
mysterious resignation and the vague unrest 
of the music's atmosphere The opening five 
bars should be played in a manner to convey 
a kind of rhythmical stream to the triplet 
figures, and thus create an impression as of a 
continuously undulating background for the 



2, bar 10. 

Mark Hambourg 


Example No. 3, bars 15-18. 

melody which is presently to start. The 
octaves in the bass should be played some- 
what louder than the triplet figure in the 
right hand, so as to produce the requisite 
depth of tone, though the volume of sound 
should not overstep 
the bounds of "piano" 
(/>). — Ex. No. 1, bars 

The melody is intro- 
duced in the fifth bar, 
and must give the idea 
of floating on the ac- 
companiment. At the 
tenth bar there comes 
a change of harmony 
from the major into the 
minor key, and here 
the note G (the first 
G) in the right hand 
should be accentuated. 
- — Ex. No. 2, bar 10. 

Proceeding onwards 
to the last quarter of 
the fifteenth bar and 
leading to the six- 
} tccnth, the melody adopts a more insistent 
temper, which may be rendered by empha- 
sizing the notes B and C of the melody in the 
right hand, especially the C. In fact, this 
..note C should be taken arpeggiato with the 
accompaniment under- 
neath. It seems to me 
to represent a cry of un- 
utterable heartache, a 
sudden longing which can - 
not be appeased. In the 
following bar, where these 
same notes of appeal ap- 
pear again, they may be 
repeated pianissimo as a 
kind of echo. — Ex. No. 3, 
bars 15-18. 

Coming to the twenty-fifth bar, there 
seems to be like a second voice appearing 
with a question in the treble and an answer 
in the bass, and then another question and 
the answer. In these bars the amount of 

Example No. 4, bars 28-3 1 . 

tone can be somewhat increased and a plain- 
tive expression imparted to the questioning 
phrases. — Ex. No. 4, bars 28-31. 

A similar development is to be found in bars 
thirty and thirty-one. At bar thirty-two a 
storm begins to rise in the 
harmonies, and continues 
to increase with a gradu- 
ally ascending crescendo 
of tone and accellerandoof 
movement until itreaches 
its culminating point on 
the first note (B sharp) of 
the thirty-sixth bar, which 
should be brought out 
with considerable force. — 
Ex. No. 5, bar 36. 

Example No. 5, bar 36. 

The " Moonlight Sonata 


From here onward 
the storm of emotion 
gradually diminishes 
in intensity until it 
returns with a rallen- 
tando in the fortieth 
and forty-first bars 
to the subdued spirit 
of the original atmos- 
phere of the piece. It 
is of great importance 
during the gradual 
calming do\\ji of the 
stress of the music 
from bars thirty- 
seven to forty, that 
the melody which 
has embodied itself 
in the inner struc- 
tures of the har- 
monies should be brought out thus. — Ex. 
No. 6, bars 37-40. 

The next part of the movement resumes 
the opening melody, and then continues its 


♦ Example No. 7, bars 56-57. 

course with some variation on the original, 
both in modulation of key and progression 
of passages. In the fifty-sixth and fifty- 
seventh bars the melody should be especially 

Example No. 6, bars 37-40. 

The movement now sinks towards its 
close, and from the sixtieth to the sixty- 
fourth bar the fateful notes in the left 
hand right down in the bass must resound, 

though not louder 
than mezzo forte, but 
still with an ominous 
emphasis which should 
pervade the last few 
bars of the move- 
ment. — Ex. No. 8, 
bars 60-63. 

Again, from bars 
sixty-four to sixty- 
eight, these deep 
bass notes should 
speak out like the 
ringing of a knell of doom, but this time, 
though equally distinct as before, they 
should be given as soft as possible, like 
an echo of the former ones. The move- 

Example No. 8, bars 60-63. 

f~** - Onninsl from 

brought out and made apparent above the ment is thus brought to a conclusion in an 

rhythmical figures of the accompaniment. — atmosphere oi melancholy tinged with vague 

Ex. No. 7, bars 56-57. foreboding. 


toe cf 



ANDLORD," said Garman, 

finishing his bottle of claret, 
I believe that I passed in my 
car, two miles north of here, 
that lonely house on a hill-top where an old 
man was brutally murdered a week ago." 

The landlord of the Nine Bells, who 
had looked in to see if his visitor was enjoying 
his dinner, set his face to a grave expression. 

" You mean the crime at Windy Oaks ? " 
said he. " Yes, you would pass the place, 
coming that way. Twas terrible. Mr. 
Tracer was well known about here, sir. 
They found him in his bedroom one morning, 
cruelly battered, dead as that salmon in the 
glass case on the wall." 

" A forceful simile," murmured the middle- 
aged, robustly-built guest, feeling for a cigar. 
41 A shocking affair, landlord, and still not 
cleared up ? " 

" Nothin' material done. All we hear is 
that the police are looking for a man in a 
brown suit : a man between thirty and 
forty, with black hair. That don't amount 
to much — lacking further particulars. Such 
a man was seen near the house on the night 
of the murder." 

" Well, I hope they get him," said Garman, 

" Strange enough," went on the landlord 
of the mn, rubbing his blue chin up the wrong 
way, " the very last time I saw Mr. Tracer 
was in this 'ouse, taking his dinner in this 
very room. A square-built man, sir, with 
a blue reefer-cut coat, brown beard turning 
to yellow, and gold spectacles. I little 
thought " 

" Well, I must be off," interrupted Garman, 

Sreparing to pay. " I shall have to push my 
ttle car along to get to town by nine o'clock. 

And there's a moaning sou'-west wind about 
that may mean rain." 

Garman left the cosy inn a minute later. 
Its cheerful light showed his car waiting by 
the roadside. Garman was driving it him- 
self. After bestowing a tip or two he got 
in, buttoned up well, and glided off into the 
absolutely dark night. There was no moon, 
the stars were obscured, and the only sound 
to be heard was the whining plaint of the 
wind to the telegraph-wires. 

Garman had scarcely got going, and the 
Nine Bells was about fifty yards behind, 
when a figure leaped into the middle of the 
road and waved its arms for him to stop. 
The car carried good lamps for its size, and 
in the searching glare Garman, as he applied 
his brakes, saw that the interrupter of his 
progress was a man of about thirty-seven, 
who was wearing a brown suit. 

A voice, husky with entreaty, called to 
him — " If you are going to London, sir, or 
onlv a part of the way, I beg of you to give 
me'a lift." 

The car came to a stop. The man's face 
looked deathly white in the lamps' glare. 

Garman was a man of swift consideration. 
He fixed a penetrative gaze upon the man, 
and he reflected. He did not like that brown 
suit and those thirty-seven years. But 
Garman was a man without fear, and very 
well able to take care of himself. Also he 
never jumped to a conclusion. 

" What's the trouble ? " he inquired, 

" I am stranded here," answered the 
other, with beseeching. " No train stops 
here for hours, and 1 want to get to London 
at the earliest moment. I cannot say how 
grateful I should be " 


Wine of Sensation 

11 All right ; get in/ 1 invited Garman, 

VVith a hurried outburst of thanks the 
stranger climbed into the car and took the 
only other seat — on Carman's left. 

Away hummed the automobile, skimming 
beautifully to the crest of a long ascent, 
The white road streamed under the bonnet ; 
sheer pace gave a whistle to the wind, and a 
raw, chilling breath. 

Said Garman to himself as he gripped the 
wheel : *' Now I wonder who the devil this 
fellow ii ? He is very anxious to get away 
from here ; but I wouldn't think anything 
of that if he wafl wearing a different -colon red 
coat. Still, 
the s i t u a- 
tion is not 
without in- 
terest. If he 
tries any 
h a n k y - 
panky trick 
on me 1 
shall break 
his jaw* Of 
course, he 
may not be 
that fellow, 
He wouldn't 
lie found so 
near the 
spot. But if 
he te " 

Gar man 
checked the 
A soft whis- 
tle crept to 
his lips. 
Some start- 
ling idea 
had darted 
Jike ?m elec- 
tric current 
through his 
mind. He 
muttered to 
h i in b e 1 f : 
"In that 
case — in 
that case, 
what would 
they say to 
it at the 
Club? Why 
—why — good heavens, what a point to score I 

So strange and powerful was the idea that 
had presented itself to Garman that it 
Imparted an almost literal flash to his eyes. 
In the grip of it he stared straight ahead, 
thinking rapid Iv, guiding the car subcon- 
sciously. He did not sec the uneasy glances 

which his companion kept bestowing upon 

After they had covered seven miles GaTman 
decided to act. His first move was to bring 
the car to a standstill. They were then in 
a partly-sunken road, heavy and black with 
mud, and the twisted roots of trees came out 
on the bank like monstrous serpents. 

" Now* then, answer short and sharp ! " 
commanded Garman, " Who are you ? " 

The other winced at the demand, and put 
out a hand towards the door. " You take a 
strange tone with me/* he replied. 

"I do. And I have a reason. You are 
the man looked for in the Tracer murder.'* 

" That's an infernal lie," was the stam- 
mered response, 

'* Is. it ? ,J snarled Garman, grimly. M It 

" Garman restarted the car, but 
vaulted clean over the side of 

before it had travelled a yard his companion 
it. Garman lost a second or two, then W£s 
after him/* 

is up to you to prove your word. You will 
not object ? fi 

" What do you mean ? " 

I That wpvStop ajtrthe next police-station, 
where vou can answer a lew questions/ 1 

II VtfiWIVE^Iit'o^FaiVil&HI^Nthem if yon 
choose," sneered the other. 

L. J. Beeston 

2 73 

" One will be enough," 

As he spoke, Garnian restarted the car ; 
but before it had travelled a yard his com- 
panion vaulted clean over the side of it. 
Carman lost a second or two, then was after 
him. The pursuit was of brief duration, 
for the foremost runner suddenly stopped 
as if a pistol ball had pierced his heart. 

M Oh, my God ! He's there — again— 
there ! " he cried in a voice hoarse and 
broken by terror. 

A thrill quivered over even Carman's 
well-strung nerves. 
He stared intently 
in the direction to 
which the other 
] Jointed. In the 
dark wall of the 

murder of Mr. Trace! 

' My story isn't a 

night ah he could perceive — and that very 
faintly — was a gnarled oak tree with its 
writhing limbs, on which the unfallen brown 
and withered leaves made a husky sound in 
the wind, 

" Who's there ? What the devil do yon 
mean ? " cried Garman, as he grasped the 
fugitive by the shoulder. 

"He/" was the gasped response. '* I 
saw the flash of his gold spectacles. There 
—there ! He's got on the same reefer 
coat ! He has taken his hands from his 
pockets ! Keep him off 1 He isn't dead t 
Can't be ! I liave seen him like that twice 
since. He's alive 1 keep him away ! " 

The voice rose almost to a scream, sending 
an icy shiver the length of Carman's spine* 
With a single action he spun the man round 
and pushed him by main strength into the 

car, where he collapsed- Garman starts! 
again, and he flung a queer and apprehensive 
glance towards the oak tree as he passed it. 

The car co%ered several miles before either 
man spoke. Presently Carman broke the 
silence between them, 

' We are drawing near town/' said ht\ 
slowing up that he might be heard preperlw 
" I suppose you will no longer deny that vou 
are the man wanted bv the police for the 
of Windy Oaks ? " 
matter for their ears/' 
answered the other, 
11 That is what I 
shrink from. There 
is more in it than I 
dare tell the police. 
No one would under- 
stand—but a friend ; 
and where am I to 
find one — now ? " 

His teeth chat- 
tered t oge t h er , for 
the speed - created 
ha If -gale of wind had 
penetrated to his bones* 
Do you deny that you 
murdered Mr. Tracer ? " 
d emanded Carman . 
* It is that word ' murder * 
that I take exception to/' 
' That you killed him, then ? " 
11 Suppose I say that I did ? " 
Then I should offer you a chance/' 
You ? How is that possible ? " 
I cannot explain here and now, You 
shall know in an hour's time/' 

4 Yon want me to do something ? " 

* Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't/' 

* It must be something devilish, then/' 
You cnu refuse, if you choose. What is 

vour name ? " 

m Mat." 

" All right, Milt. Now yon know as well 
as I do that if you get into the police dutch 
you are done for. And if you try to leave 
me again, without my permission, I will 
hand you over as sure as I live. I am twice 
as strong as yon are, and twice as deter- 
mined. Will yon trust yourself to my 
hands ? I repeat— I mean to offer you a 
chance. Now will you be placable or not ? " 

The other was silent. He looked at Gar- 
man in a queer and furtive manner* 

" Confound you ! What are you thinking 
about ? " afcked Garman, 

" I was thinking that yon have something 
ugly at the back of your head/' was the slow 
and resentful answer. 

" Very well ; it's the police and the end 
for you/' snarJed Carman, savagely* 

abrip^^ your power, 

and I'll keep quiet/* 


Wine of Sensation 

Garman nodded, muttered something un- 
intelligible, and lengthened out the speed. In 
a few minutes a faint glow in the sky showed 
that the strange ride was coming to a finish. 

FIFTY-FIVE minutes later two men 
turned out from Regent Street into Beak 
Street. The elder had tucked his arm 
into the other's, and they walked along in that 
old-fashioned way, as if they were the best 
of pals, though a close observer could have 
detected the fact that one man was in reality 
preventing a possible desire to bolt on the 
part of his companion. 

As the hour was nine o'clock the big 
arteries of the West-end had absorbed most 
of the life of the streets, and the narrow 
thoroughfares this side of Regent Street 
were almost deserted. A thin veil of rain 
had turned the dust to a clayey paste ; 
refuse from the small, mean shops had been 
swept into the gutters ; iron shutters were 
up and dingy blinds drawn. 

Suddenly the older man halted. " This 
is our destination," he announced. 

He had stopped before a low shop with an 
embayed Georgian front, which bore the 
name, " Alexander Diarmid, Cigar Mer- 

There was a shabby side door, and to the 
lock of it he applied a key. A narrow and 
common little passage was disclosed, covered 
with a cheap linoleum, and the yellow paper 
on the walls was an insult to an intelligent 
gaze. At the end of this mean hallway 
ascended a long flight of stairs, lighted at 
the foot by the naked flame of a gas-jet in 
a wire guard. 

" This way, Milt," said the older man, and 
still holding the other lightly by the arm he 
climbed thye ladder-like staircase. As they 
drew near to the door at the top, a voice was 
heard speaking in a monotonous accent, as 
though reading. As Garman rapped seven 
times on the door the voice stopped. He 
then knocked four times, paused, then gave 
two more raps. 

A clear voice called " Enter ! " 

AS Garman opened the door he felt his 
companion shrink back, but he was 
prepared for that, and grasping him 
by the back of the neck, he hurled him 
forward with violence. 

Recovering his balance, Milt looked round. 
In a long room about a dozen* men were 
seated, and one standing at the head of a 
table, with a paper in his hand. Each man 
had a strip of black cloth across his eyes, 
which had been adjusted when Garman 
knocked, and each was in evening dress. 

He who had been speaking, after a glance 

at the interrupters, continued : " I have to 

the secession of Lord Mountcarres. 

In the matter of the Rochfort Cobras he 
thinks we stepped beyond the limits of our 
cult. He resigns, therefore. 

" I have to report three new applications 
for membership. The greatest care must be 
exercised. One is supported by Di\ Yeat- 
man, not present. Another by Mr. Clark 
Anstey, present. The third by Professor 
Hungars, abroad. These gentlemen know 
the rules of membership. As I say, great 
care is demanded. We all remember the 
affair of the Canaris Mummy, when the weak 
nerves of a candidate nearly burst the Club 
to pieces. 

" With regret I have to state that the 
Club's address may have to be changed 
once more. An absolute secrecy is hard to 
maintain ; a rumour has been spread " 

The monotonous voice continued, but was 
no longer listened to by Milt. From the 
masked face of the speaker and his audience 
his eyes travelled round the room — uneasily, 
stealthily travelled. Here was luxury. The 
Persian rugs upon the floor were worth a 
fortune. It was a large room of grotesque 
faces. They stared — a grimacing multitude 
from great spreads of canvas upon the walls ; 
they grinned from the painted ceiling ; they 
glared from the carven bodies of squat 
monsters of Chinese and Indian fashioning. 
Along the length of a table in the middle of 
the room stretched an immense dragon of 
brass covered with burnished scales. A 
powerful electric light glowed in the jaws of 
this beast, and sent two slanting green rays 
from its eyeballs. 

At a touch upon his arm Milt turned and 
saw Garman still by his side. Both men 
were standing by the door, and in shadow. 

" I will tell you where you are," whispered 
Garman. " This is one of the least known 
and most exclusive clubs in London, and one 
of the most expensive. It is called * The 
Sensation Club.' Are you listening ? " 

11 What do they do here ? " muttered Milt, 
wetting his lips. 

" Here we worship the cult of the Sensa- 
tional. Here we drink the heady wine of 
sheer excitement." 

Milt gulped, and Garman tightened his 
hold upon his arm. 

" Who are these men ? " inquired Milt, 

" Their names would astonish you ; with 
that you must be satisfied. Most of them 
have run the gamut of all the thrills that life 
offers to the lover of them ; and that is why 
they are here, why they are members of this 
association whose first duty is to provide 
breath-stopping, heart-stopping excitement. 
There is no other cteb in the world where 
such fare is to be found/' 

"Good God!' murmured Milt, rolling 
dilated eyes. 

L, J. Beeston 


14 You heard the President speak of three 
new aspirants for membership. Probably 
not one of them will be successful." 

" Why not ? " 

" Because he must provide a new Sensa- 
tion ; or, failing that, must submit himself 
to one. I tell you that this is no place for 
unstrung nerves." 

" What have you brought me here for ? " 

" That you shall know at once. Come 
forward ! " 

The President had completed his remarks, 
and now, for the first time since their entry, 
all eyes sought Garman and the stranger 
with him. And the sight of them, glittering 
behind the slits in the half-masks, boring into 
him, affected Milt like stabs from the electric 

44 I have to request that someone will be 
so good as to keep between my charge here 
and the door," commenced Garman, urbanely. 
He spoke well ; he " had the floor," and it 
was evident that he meant to make the most 
of his opportunity. 

44 Mr. President and gentlemen," he con- 
tinued, " it fe my good fortune to introduce 
to-night one of those adventures in pure 
sensation which are the essence of this Club. 
I assume that we have all heard of the crime 
at Windy Oaks, in which a Mr. Tracer was 
done to death. Gentlemen, I have no doubt 
that the criminal is this man whom I have 
brought here. Of his own free will he 
comes ; and, on his behalf, I claim for him 
the privileges of The Sensation Club." 

The President rested his finger-ends on the 
table before him. " That is to be seen," 
said he, gravely. 4< Explain further." 

GARMAN went on : " This evening I dined 
at the inn called the Nine Bells, which 
is two miles north of Windy Oaks. The 
landlord spoke unctuously of the crime, de- 
scribing the dead man, whom he knew, and 
that Unknown who is wanted by the police. 
When I came away it was quite dark. At a 
lonely spot in the road my car was stopped 
by our friend here, who implored me, in 
tones of very real fear and distress, to give 
him a lift along the London road. His 
manner, and his appearance — which is that 
of the wanted man — created my suspicion. 
When I came to demand of him the truth, 
he jumped from the car and bolted. But he 
was held up in a remarkable manner. In the 
gloom of a sunken road he saw — or shall we 
say that he fancied that he saw ? — the form' 
of his victim. In his agony he described it 
to me — a man in a blue reefer coat, with gold 
spectacles ; a square-built man with a brown 
t^ard changing to yellow. These were the 
words used by the landlord of the inn, and 
they were practically repeated by our rather 
terrible guest here. More, he declared that 

he had seen that unsubstantial presence 
twice before since the act — his act — of foul 
murder. This we may or may not believe ; 
but in a convulsion of terror, an access of 
mortal fear, he practically admitted the deed. 
My first impulse was to place him in the hands 
of the police ; my second, to bring him here. 
He wishes to know what you will do with 
him ; his plea is for the protection of the 
Club. That is all, gentlemen. I have 
played my part. I have brought you a grim 
guest. Mr. President, you will decide." 

The moment Garman ceased talking an 
excited babel of voices arose. Milt turned 
his wild eyes upon the crowd, but he failed 
to catch what was being said. Twice he 
looked behind him to the door, but a big 
man was on guard there. 

Suddenly the President made a sign for 
silence. As the excited talk died down the 
words " Hungars " and " bacillus " became 

44 Certainly Professor Hungars 's queer dis- 
covery has never been put to a decisive 
test," said the President, calmly. " And as 
it seems to be the most popular suggestion, 
we will put it to a practical application." 

While speaking he unlocked a drawer in 
the long table. A moment later a tiny phial 
of blue glass, octagonal, was in his hand. 

44 A wine-glass," he requested, " half-filled 
with pure water." 

He inserted the bare end of a match into 
the phial, and when he withdrew it there 
clung to it a drop of liquid. He held this 
over the wine-glass and gently shook off the 
drop into the water, which slowly changed 
to the colour of grass-green. Milt watched 
the proceedings with deeply-uneasy intent- 
ness. The red crept from his cheeks ; his 
,eyes were haggard. • 

44 You will drink the contents of that 
glass," was the harshly-uttered command. 

44 What devil's game are you playing ? " 
said Milt, huskily. 

44 Drink ! " 

44 Yes — perhaps — when I know what it 

44 It is your chance of your life," said the 
President, with iron sternness. 44 It will 
save you — at a price. What that price i? 
you shall know. The liquid in this phial was 
sent to us by a member — Professor Hungars. 
It contains a germ obtained by him from a^ 
West Indian swamp. He claims that the 
effect of this germ in the human system is to 
produce, with a terrible swiftness, all the 
signs and appearance of advanced years. 
The tissues waste, the arteries harden, the 
eye loses its lustre, the skin yellows. So he 
states, and Professor Hungars is one of our 
foremost bacteriologists. You must now 
perceive the chance which we extend to you, 
Milt. The police are looking for a man — a 


Wine of Sensation 

young man — between thirty and forty years 
of age. It is highly likely that this liquid 
offers you the power to baffle them." 

" I see," said Milt, moistening his lips. 
" If they find an old man — shrunken, white- 
haired — ah, what ghouls you are ! I will not 
touch it ! Bv Heaven, I will not ! " 

" You will"! " 

" I swear I won't ! " 

" You have two minutes in which to make 
up your mind." 

" An old man of me ? " muttered Milt, 
huskily. " How old ? Fifty? Sixty? JMore 
than that ? " 

" Probably much more. You know as 
much as we do. But I am not here to 
answer your questions. One of your two 
minutes has expired. I warn you that you 
are in a dangerous position." 

" My soul ! I can believe that," groaned 
the fugitive, casting a dazed and cowed look 
at the masked faces all turned upon him. 

No one spoke. Milt breathed heavily ; 
slowly he reached out a hand that shook with 
agitation. He took up the glass. Excited 
whispers arose. " Hell drink ! " " No ! 
He's afraid ! " " And, by Heaven, he has 
reason to be ! " 

Milt lifted the glass to his lips ; but at the 
last moment, when he seemed about to toss 
the liquid down his throat, he changed his 
mind, and with a shout of " Damn the lot of 
you ! " he hurled the crystal to the floor, 
where it shivered to pieces. 

Then he leaped to the window. 

" Stop him ! " roared everyone. 

BUT there was no need. Milt had become 
abruptly paralysed. Clutching the dark 
curtains, his eyes a-glare, he was looking 
into the street as if he saw some unimagin- 
able horror down there. 

M There he is ! " he gasped. " The fourth 
time ! He is looking up at me ! He is 
coming over — he I Bolt the door ! For God's 
sake keep him out ! " 

There was a rush to the window. Garman 
was first. In the light of a street lamp, 
crossing the road, his gaze lifted steadily 
towards the window, they all saw a square- 
built man with a brownish-yellow beard, and 
wearing a blue reefer-cut coat, and the white 
light flashing on the lenses of his gold spec- 
tacles. They all saw that thing clearly, and 
its stone-like, bloodless face. 

" That's Tracer," said Garman, pitching 
his voice low for control. 

Milt spun round as if he had been cut with 
a whip. " That's a lie ! Tracer's dead 1 " 
he snarled, his face convulsed. 

" Perfectly true, and he is coming up here, 
presumably," said Garman. 

That grim figure in the street was now so 
far below the window level as to be out of 

sight. A tense silence had gripped the 
occupants of the room. And. then, as 
everyone listened in the most acute sus- 
pense, they heard the door downstairs open 
and close. Thirty seconds followed that 
ominous sound, but no other was heard. 

Someone tried to scoff — " What are we 
getting scared about, anyhow ? " 

No one replied. Garman stepped to the 
door which opened upon the long steep stair- 
case. He opened it softly, gave one look, 
then recoiled as if a pistol had been thrust 
into his throat. 

" It's coming up ! " he gasped. 

Milt turned round, staggered, and fell upon 
his knees, with one hand grasping the table's 
edge. At the same moment a face, ashen- 
livid, appeared in the doorway. Its eyes 
were fixed upon the crouching man, and it 
advanced upon him I 

" Keep him off ! Keep him off ! " screamed 
Milt, writhing. 

But no one stirred. The bizarre figure 
approached the agonized Milt, slowly and 
stealthily. It flung out both its arms and 
gripped him by the throat I Milt uttered a 
frightful cry and closed with the terrible 
visitor. For a moment they rocked to and 
fro as if in a death clutch, and the n- - 

Then Milt broke loose with a shout of 
laughter ! 

" Call it off, Yeatman ! " said he. " Show 
the cards ! You've introduced me all right, 
all right ; and I reckon I've earned a mem- 
bership to the Club ! " 

" I perfectly agree," said the visitor, with 
a chuckle. He swept off his beard, removed 
his spectacles, rubbed his cheeks effectively. 
He looked round upon the stupefied company, 
* 4 A true sensation, gentlemen ! Admit it f " 

" Dr. Yeatman ! " gasped every voice. 

" Precisely and exactly," purred that 
beaming individual, " and one of yourselves. 
This is my friend, Mr. Milt, and he is my 
candidate for membership. Allow that -he 
has proved himself a most suitable applicant ! 
We worked this little stunt together. Only 
he and I were in it. I knew that Garman was 
to dine this evening at the Nine Bells, 
Windy Oaks, for he told me so. At my 
suggestion my friend Milt — whose remarkable 
powers of acting you must concede— passed 
himself off as the man looked for by the 
police. Garman was tricked absolutely. I 
felt certain that he would perceive, in the 
encounter, an opportunity to make a big hit 
at the Club. To bring to it the man all the 
country is talking about ! What a chance I 
And Garman snapped at it ; fairly ate it up. 
I ask his pardon. As for me — I became a 
suggestion of poor Mr. Tracer, whose cruel 
end, still a mvsterv, we all hope justice will 


" That is the very simple story. Allow me 

L. J. Beeston 


You will drink the contents of that glass 1 ' was the harshly- Uttered command/* 

to formally introduce my friend and candi- 
date for membership of The Sensational Club* 
May I venture to predict his enrolment ? J * 
'" I think you may/' said the President, 

He had .tjipj^h^tfJ^i^ake himself heard 
above ^ applause * and he furtively 
passeTO' tKa-ktlkerchiet HwftN his forehead, 
which was beaded with perspiration* 





I had two solid cubes of lead, one very slightly 

larger than the other, just as shown in the illustration. 

Through one of them I cut a hole 

(without destroying the continuity 

of its four sides) so that the other 

cube could be passed right through 

it. On weighing them afterwards 

it was found that the larger cube 

heavier of the two 1 How was this 

was still 
possible ? 


ALFRED, Ben, and Charles work in the same factory^ 
but at different benches* Ben is twice as old as 
Charles, and Alfred is twice as old as Ben. Each has 
noticed that he is the youngest workman at his bench 
and that every man in the factory is a year older th;in 
the one on his left, Alfred, Ben, and Charles beinp on 
the extreme left of their particular benches, Oddly 
enough, the total of the ages at each bench is 2S5. 
How many men are there at each bench ? 


HERE is quite a simple little puzzle* A man has a 
triangular lawn of the proportions shown, and he 
wants to make the largest possible 
rectangular flower -bed without en- 
closing the tree. How is he to do 
it ? This will serve to teach the 
uninitiated a simple rule that may 
prove useful on occasion. For 
example, it would equally apply to 
the case of a carpenter who had a 
triangular board and wished to cut out the largest 
possible rectangular table- top without including a 
bad knot in the wood. 

A correspondent sends me another old enigma to 
which the solution is unknown* 1 have not yet dis- 
covered any satisfactory answer, but I have no doubt 
it will interest my readers to try their wit* at it : — 

In jerkin short and nut -brown coat I live. 

Pleasure to all, and pain to all, I give. 

Quivers I have and pointed arrows too, 

Cold is my dart and iron is my bow. 

Nothing l send, ye I many thin|$s I write, 

I never go to war, yet always fight. 

Nothing I eat, yet I am always full. 

Poison from books* and sweets from flowers, I cull. 

A spotted back I have and leathern scrip. 

Black is my face and blubber is my lip. 

No tears I shed, and yet I always weep- 

Sleeping I wake and waking do I sleep. 

WlTAT number, composed of nine figures, will, if 
multiplied by the number 123456789, give a product 
with 987654321 (in that order) in the last nine places 
to the right ? 


Solutions to Last Month s Puzzles. 

535 + — THE GUARDED 
Here is the solu- 
tion, with every square 
occupied or attacked, 
and only one piece, the 
bishop at KB6, un- 
guarded by another 
piece. It was discovered 
by Major Qiepmell, who 
is well known in the 
chess world. 

■ "f 1 '- , 

53 n\— DIVIDING BY 37, 
Write beneath the number successively, from right 
to left, the numbers 1, 10, 11, as follows :— ~ 



Now, regarding the lower figures as multipliers 
add together all J he products of 1 and 10 and deduct 
all the products by 11* This is the same as adding 
13, o3, 29, and 41; together (90) and deducting eleven 
times 2 plus 3 plus 1 (66). The difference, 33, will 
be the remainder when the larpe number is divided 
by 37, Here is the key + If we divide 1, io t 100* 
1*000, etc« t by 37 we get successively the remainders 
1, to, 26, but for convenience we deduct the 26 from 
37 and call it minus ir« If you try 49,629,708.213 
you will find the minus or negative total 165, or in 
excess of the positive 99. The difference is 66* Deduct 
37 and you get 29* But as the result is minus, deduct 
it from 37 and you have & as correct answer. You 
can now find the method for other prime divisors* 
The cases of 7 and 13 are easy, in the former case 
you write i, 3, 2 (r f 3, 2), 1, 3. 2, etc., from right to 
left j the bracketed numbers being minus. In the 
latter case, 1 (3, 4, i)> 3, 4, 1 (3, 4, 1), etc. 

THREE different colours are necessary* The bottom 
right-hand corner of the map is here reproduced. The 
Lord High Keeper had introduced 
that little line dividing A and B by 
mistake f and this was his undoing. A, 
B, and C must be different colours. 
Except for this slip, two colours would 
have been sufficient. 

538.— A DEAL IK EGGS. 
The smallest possible number of eggs is 719, He 
sold 48 dozen at 5s, per dozen, and 11 lots at 13 for 
53., making £14 15s. in alh The original number of 
eg£s might he any multiple of 9,360 plus 719, but the 
smallest possible number was asked for. 


THtJHiV^3kT^H}Fft^^ «i Lincolnshire, 

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Bg Fag * 22, 


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April, 192 1 

by Google 

Original from 

*■ 1 stopped abort, startled. To what could that girl be persuading Namba ? Whatever 
draw the gleaming blade o( his krb from his *s*h and, with a low 










it was* she succeeded, 1 saw the Malay 
obeisance, solemnly kiss it." 

Y6L l*L-19 h 

f JrTTLrm CTT — 

Copyright, 1921, by F, B^w^MAjy Qr 

The narrative which follows was discovered 
among the papers of the late Walter Watts, 
master mariner, and his executors, having 
failed to trace any members of the family cf 
Hector Stevenson, of Aberdeen — to whose 
relatives Captain Watts, by his will, left the 
whole of his estate — now adopt this method of 
publicity in the hope that it may catch the eye 
of one of the beneficiaries. 

The narrative commences with Captain 
Waits' s reasons for writing this confession, and 
a solemn asseveration of his veracity. Con- 
siderations of space compel the omission of this 
prefatory matter, 

IX the year 1SS0 I was second mate oil 
the brig Arafura, three hundred tons * 
register, trading from the China ports 
to Sydney and occasional! y across the 
Pacific to San Francisco. Like the modern 
tramp steamer, in fact, she would go any- 
where that cargo offered* Owned as she was 
by her master, Captain Rivers, a bluff sea- 
man of the old school, running expenses 
were kept at the minimum. Captain Rivers, 
Hector Stevenson — the first officer — and my- 
self comprised al! the white men on board. 



A Siren of the Tropics 

The crew was Lascar — Malays for the most 
part, under a Malay serang. The cook and 
cabin steward were both Chinese. 

Between Hector Stevenson and myself 
there was a more than common degree of 
intimacy. Shipmates for more than a year, 
we had become fast friends. We were both 
young ; I, twenty-three ; he, a year older. 
Tall, big-framed, blond, with singularly 
fascinating blue eyes, he reminded one of 
those old Vikings whose blood he may indeed 
have had in his veins, for he came from a 
part of Scotland for long centuries exposed 
to their descents. His character was one of 
utter candour and simplicity. He looked 
one straight in the eyes when he spoke, and 
his word was sacred. I cannot even now 
think upon him without emotion. Thirty- 
five years ago we were like brothers together. 

IN October of that year we loaded at 
Canton with a cargo for Singapore and 

Sydney. The run down the China Sea 
before the north-east monsoon was un- 
eventful, and at Singapore we had the good 
fortune to pick up a balance of cargo for 
Sydney, our final port. I suppose it was 
about the end of November — summer 
weather in those seas — when we finished 
loading. On the day before we sailed 
Captain Rivers invited me ashore with him 
while he transacted his business with the 
shipper's agent. Of course, the three of us 
adjourned to the club. Little did I realize 
then, as we entered it, that this was to be 
the turning-point of my life — that from that 
moment I should be able to trace the chain 
of circumstances which has made me, 
although unapprehended by the law, a self- 
condemned solitary, alone with my con- 
science on all the many ships I have since 
commanded ! 

The three of us sat down on the veranda 
overlooking the harbour. We had been 
there only a few minutes when through the 
doors behind us emerged a big, powerfully- 
built man who stood scanning the company 
on the veranda as though in quest of some- 
one. There was something curiously sinister 
in that hard-set face with the clipped yellow 
moustache and penetrating grey eyes which 
made me look twice at him. I remember 
thinking that he would be an ugly adversary 
* in a fight. Then his gaze fell upon us and 
he came straight across to us. 

Nodding a curt " Good morning " to the 
agent, he addressed the skipper. 

" Captain Rivers, I believe ? " he said. 
Even the pleasant smile that flashed from 
the white teeth under his moustache did not 
quite dispel the sinister impression he had 
first made upon me. 

" At your service, sir," said the skipper, 
looking up in surprise at this total stranger. 

by LiOOgle 

Rivers, however, was a man who was in- 
stantly friends with anybody. " Sit down 
and have a drink." 

" Much obliged, Captain," replied the 
stranger, pulling up a chair to the little table 
and seating himself. " Mv name is Han- 

" Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hanson," said 
the skipper. " What can I do for you ? '* 
He passed over the whisky bottle, and even 
his eyes opened at the stiffness of the peg 
poured out by our new acquaintance. 

Mr. Hanson's hand, however, was quite 
steady as he lifted the glass to his mouth 
and, with a curt " Here's yours ! " emptied 
it with an air of unconcern which spoke 
volumes both for his habits and the fortitude 
of his head. The drink disposed of, he came 
to business. 

" You are bound for Sydney, Captain, I 
believe ? " he queried, in the voice of a man 
who knows exactly what he wants. 

" Perfectly correct, sir," replied old Rivers. 
" We sail to-morrow morning." 

Hanson fixed him with his penetrating 
grey eyes, his mouth smiling. 

" Captain, I want a couple of passages to 
Macassar — for myself and my daughter. It 
means a couple of days' delay to you, I know, 
but I'll make it worth your while. What's 
your figure ? " 

Old Rivers reflected a moment. 

" A lady ? " he said, doubtfully. " We're 
not quite the packet for lady passengers, 
Mr. Hanson." 

" We don't expect a liner, Captain," 
replied Hanson, cheerfully. " The matter 
is urgent to me. My daughter has just 
finished her education here, and I was relying 
on my own schooner to take us home. Un- 
fortunately, I sent her on some business into 
the Archipelago, and I have just heard that 
she is cast away. The Dutch steamer is not 
due for a couple of months, and, as luck will 
have it, there happens to be no craft for sale 
here which is suitable for my purposes. I 
was in something of a dilemma when, provi- 
dentially, I heard that you were on the point 
of sailing for Sydney." 

There was a bluff good-fellowship in the 
man's tone which was distinctly ingratiating. 
Were it riot for those eyes which failed to 
participate in his smile, I must confess that 
my initial prejudice would have completely 
vanished. However, it was no business of 

11 You live in Macassar ? " asked the 
skipper, evidently to gain another moment 
or two for reflection rather than from any 
real curiosity. 

Hanson's brow clouded. 

" No," he replied, curtly. " But Macassar 
is good enough. Put us ashore there and I 
can manage/' Then, as if to mollify the 


F. Britten Austin 


brusqueness of this reply, he added, with a 
reversion to cordiality : " Name your figure, 
Captain. You'll find us easy-going passen- 

Old Rivers made up his mind. As he 
told me afterwards, he thought a lady 
passenger would be a pleasant interlude in 
the monotony of our lives. He suggested a 
sum which, he also confessed, was more than 
he expected to get. But Hanson agreed 
without the slightest attempt to bargain. 

" That's settled then, Captain," he said, 
cheerily. " You sail first thing in the morn- 
ing, I believe ? We'll come aboard to-night." 

" Who is that fellow ? " Rivers asked our 
companion, when Hanson had departed. 
" Do you know him ? " 

The agent laughed. 

" We all know him — and yet none of us 
does. He's something of a mystery. Once 
a year he turns up here in his schooner — 
she has been wrecked, as he told you — with 
a cargo of pearls, trepang, and sometimes 
spiees, pepper, or ginger. But where he 
comes from, no one knows. He has tucked 
himself away somewhere round Celebes. 
That's all we can get out of him. He's a 
peculiar card — pretty much of a rough hand 
when he likes, I imagine. He's had a 
daughter at the big school here for some 
years. She would be about eighteen now 
— half-caste, of course." 

" Is he English ? " I asked. " There's 
something about him " I stopped, un- 
able to define it. 

" He says he is," replied the agent. " Per- 
sonally, I think, he looks more like a 
Scandinavian of some sort. However, he 
calls himself Hanson and not Hansen — and 
it's nobody's business but his own." 

" Certainly not," agreed the skipper, as he 
turned to me. " Come along, Mr. Watts. 
We must go and get things shipshape." 

WE had a busy afternoon. 
When tea-time came the three of 
us sat round our meal in the cabin 
with a certain amount of Suppressed excite- 
ment. For so many months we had dwelt 
alone together that this imminent invasion 
of our privacy, brief though we anticipated 
it to be, assumed an enormous importance. 

11 I wonder what the daughter will be like," 
said I. 

" Pooh ! one of those mean little half- 
caste girls," replied Stevenson, disdainfully. 
I noticed, however, that he wore his best 
jacket. So, for that matter, did the skipper 
and myself. 

" If she's eighteen, she'll be a grown 
woman," observed old Rivers. " No fighting, 
mind, you lads," he added, with a malicious 
twinkle in his eye. " We don't want any 
more jealousies on board this ship." 


Hector's handsome face flushed as he 
looked up. The skipper had touched on a 
sore point, for we had both been rather 
sweet on an English girl at Canton. 

" Speaking for myself, sir, I am not likely 
to lose my head over a half-caste Malay 
woman ! " he said, with some emphasis. 
" Walter here is welcome to her." 

Before I could equally disclaim any pro- 
spective interest, there was a sound of feet 
on the deck overhead, a heavy tread on the 
companion-way, and a bluff voice sang 
out : — 

" Come aboard, Captain ! " 

We turned to see Hanson at the foot of 
the companion stairs. 

Hector and I both glanced, on the same 
impulse, up to the open cabin-skylight over- 
head. The shadow of a slim form lay across 
it. That contemptuous phrase of Steven- 
son's seemed to ring in our guilty ears. We 
knew too well how plainly audible on deck 
was a loud remark uttered below the skylight. 
However, we had not long to indulge our 
embarrassment. Hanson turned and called 
up the companion-way : — 

" Maya ! Come down and be introduced." 

We were all three on our feet as the white- 
clad figure ran lightly down the stairs — and 
we all stared in astonishment as she came 
into the cabin. Hanson's daughter was a 
beauty such as none of us had ever set eyes 
on in our lives. Half-caste she may have 
been — she certainly was — but her mother 
was assuredly no ordinary Malay woman. 
Her skin seemed dazzlingly white by con- 
trast with the jet-black hair and the large 
dark eyes which opened wide upon us as we 
were presented to her. Her face was a 
perfect oval, her nose dainty and fine at the 
nostrils, her mouth firm yet full in the curves, 
and of a most disturbing scarlet. In fact, 
her entire presence was strangely, mys- 
teriously disturbing. There was nothing of 
the schoolgirl about her. As the skipper 
had predicted, she was a grown woman — a 
woman of altogether exceptional beauty and 

Old Rivers was quite abashed as he 
proffered a clumsy welcome. 

I glanced at Hector as she shook hands 
with him. Self-consciously stiff, there was 
no trace in him now of the scorn with which 
he had referred to " mean little half-caste 

As for myself, I mumbled some embar- 
rassed banality, and flushed to the ears 
when she added, with a smile in which, 
however, I could detect no malice : — 

" Mr. Walter Watts ? " 

The allusion was plain. I could have 
sunk through the cabin floor. 

Hanson stood silently by, the piercing 
eyes under hiis heavy brow glittering with 



A Siren of the Tropics 

amusement, evidently enjoying the effect 
produced by his daughter. 

Hector and I Both muttered an unintelli- 
gible excuse and got away on deck. We felt 
as awkward as a couple of raw schoolboys 
in that cabin. 

" By Jove ! " I said, when we were alone. 
" She is a beauty, isn't she ? " 

Hector did not reply. A curiously tense 
expression came into his face as he turned 
away and leaned over the rail, gazing across 
the hill-surrounded harbour. I joined him 
and neither of us spoke. There was an 
indefinable something in the air which 
checked conversation. Our thoughts were 
certainly running parallel. Suddenly he 
turned to me. 

" Walter ! " he said. "I'd give anything 
to be able to apologize for that caddish 
remark ! ". 

A moment later our passengers and the 
skipper came on deck. The Sevang made a 
profound obeisance as the girl came near 
him. She swept past him like a princess. 
But the Malay's whistle shrilled with an 
unwonted alacrity in response to Stevenson '3 
order for chairs upon the poop. That girl 
threw her spell upon us all. 

The three of them sat in a conversation to 
which we were not invited, and when the 
tropic night descended with its abrupt 
suddenness Hector and I went below and 
turned in to get a good night's sleep before 
we got under way at dawn. 

WHEN our passengers came on deck 
again we were bowling along at a 
good six knots. In eight days, with 
a continuance of this weather, we should 
make Macassar. 

Despite the wind, the morning was 
blisteringly hot. It was my watch, and, in 
anticipation of the passengers' arrival on 
deck, I had already rigged the awning over 
the poop. The skipper gave a glance at the 
course, asked what she was doing, cocked 
his eye aloft, and then, in company with 
Hanson, went below again. I could guess 
his intention. The pair of them had been 
drinking to a late hour the night before. 
Miss Hanson remained on deck. 

Shyness almost paralyzed me as I realized 
that I was alone with her, for Hector was 
also below. On the poop was only the 
Malay helmsman. The serang was superin- 
tending some work forrard. If she appeared 
beautiful the previous evening, the girl was 
a miracle of loveliness that morning. I 
hardly dared to look at her. Never in my 
life have I felt myself so awkwardly stupid. 
Involuntarily, the blood rushed up into my 
face as she came across to nv »■ ^ned a 

* versa tion. I understand ?s*sc£» 

>n that a Cleopatra c. 

Digitized by LiGOg I 

men. My heart seemed to stop beating as 
she spoke in her thrilling contralto tones. 

I forget now what she said. I hardly 
heard, so focused were all my faculties on 
the sheer beauty of her face. The confusion 
of my answers must have amused her, but 
she betrayed no sign of it. With a sympathy 
which she made me feel, although unex- 
pressed in words, she led me to talk of my 
existence, of the places I had visited, of my 
interests in life. Under the flattery of her 
smile I opened out like the unsophisticated 
youngster I was. In half an hour, though 
my perception of her beauty was every bit as 
keen — was, in fact, an intoxication in which 
I lost my senses— I felt that we were old 
friends. I must have made myself ridiculous 
with the confidences of my ideals, my am- 
bitions, my illusions, which I poured out 
without reticence. 

She also became dreamily confidential as 
we leaned over the rail together and watched 
the blue seas tumbling past our quarter in a 
smother of foam upon their tops. 

" It is a wonderful life ! " she said; slowly, 
in a seatimental ecstasy, her marvellous 
eyes turning upon me. " Don't you feel, 
Mr. Watts, that you could go on sailing for 
ever between these magic islands, so full of 
mystery, so full of romance ? What un- 
dreamed-of adventures could come to one 
in these fairy seas — so unexplored, so packed 
with possibilities ! Don't you ever ieel that 
you want to discover an island of your own 
— and be a king in it ? " 

It was on the tip of my tongue to answer : 
" With you for queen ! " but I dared not 
give utterance to the audacity. My sigh, 
doubtless, was eloquent enough. 

A moment later my day-dreams were 
rudely broken. 

" What course are we on, Mr. Watts ? " 
It was Hector. The cold abruptness of his 
tone, recalling me to a relation of discipline 
long ignored between us, gave me an un- 
pleasant shock. In a moment I realized 
that the watch was relieved and that, so 
absorbed had I been in conversation with my 
enchantress, I had not even heard eight 
bells. I replied in a tone as frigid as his own. 
Then, deeply mortified, I withdrew below, 
full of resentment against my friend, techni- 
cally justified though I knew his implied 
reproof to be. 

Dinner was a meal in common in the saloon, 
Hector going to table first, and then relieving 
me on deck. There was a distinct coldness 
between us as he took over from me, and the 
voire in which he immediately gave the 
onli*r for stunsails to be set was unmistakably 
meant to be a reflection on my seamanship. 
I Mat down to dinner, inwardly raging. 

»f Miss Hanson 
jiimity, until I 

ialfrom ; 

F. Britten Austin 


Captain Rivers, I believe ? ' said the stranger, ' At your service, sir,' said the skipper. 

' Sit down and have a drink.' " 
rv «wk (~* f\f\Cf\{> Original from 



A Siren of the Tropics 

forgot everything else in the charm of her 
conversation. She contrived somehow, with- 
out actually mentioning Hector, to suggest 
that I had the preference in her regard. 
My anger died down in me. I found myself 
disdainfully pitying my friend's futile jealousy 
— for jealousy it obviously was. 

During the first dog-watch I saw nothing 
of either Hector or Miss Hanson, and when 
I came down to tea at six o'clock she had 
already disappeared from the table. For 
the next two hours I was busy in my room 
writing up the skipper's accounts. When, 
as eight bells were being struck, I passed 
through the cabin to go on deck, the skipper 
and his new friend were still sitting at 
the table with a bottle of whisky between 

As I emerged from the hatch I glanced 
round for Hector. He was standing, the 
girl at his side, leaning over the rail in a 
murmured conversation, just as I had stood 
in the morning. A diabolical impulse moved 
-me to come up silently behind them. Maya 
was speaking in her rich deep voice. 

" Don't you ever feel, Mr. Stevenson, that 
you want to discover an island of your 
own — and be a king in it ? " she said, in a 
dreamily romantic tone that was only too 
familiar to me. 

For a moment everything swam in my 
head. A passion of furious, bitter hatred 
surged up in me and my fists clenched in an 
almost irresistible impulse to annihilate the 
friend who had supplanted me — for there 
was no mistaking the sentiment in her voice, 
the genuine glow in those glorious eyes she 
turned upon his handsome face. The fact 
that she had used the self-same phrase to 
me only made the sting more savage — I had 
no mind then for the irony of it. I broke in 
upon them, controlling my anger to an icy 
frigidity of manner. 

" My watch, Mr. Stevenson/* I said, with 
a sarcasm he well understood. " Are we 
still on the same course ? " 

Our eyes met as he looked at me and our 
old friendship was dead in them. 

" Still the same course, Mr. Watts," he 
replied. " Carry on ! " 

He moved a little way along the deck with 
the girl, so as to be out of earshot, and they 
resumed their confidential attitude at the 
rail with a contempt for my presence which 
goaded me into madness. I bent all my 
faculties to overhear what they were saying. 
What I could catch of it was mortifying 
enough to my pride. They were discussing 
books, the very titles of which were unknown 
to me, but which were evidently familiar to 
both of them. I ground my teeth together 
as I realized the advantages my rival had 
over me. I made no concealment of it to 
myself — I was madly in love, more madly, 

by LiOOgle 

more passionately in love than I have ever 
been in my life. 

I WILL not try to describe the hell of the 
days that followed. There is no place on 

earth where human passions are concen- 
trated to such a morbid intensity as in the 
confinement of a ship. In the enforced pro- 
pinquity of such a woman as Maya Hanson 
it is volcanic deeps that burst into eruption. 
I could not dare to trust myself to speak to 
her, viewing her, as I did, day after day, in 
an intimate companionship with my rival 
which ignored me. There was no mistaking 
the look in the eyes that rested so often on 
his handsome face. He, it was obvious, 
was no less infatuated. Except on duty, we 
now no longer spoke. 

I found myself hating Hector as I never 
thought that I could hate. Ordinarily, the 
skipper would have sharply rebuked us both 
for our evident hostility. It was a principle 
with him not to have bad blood on board 
his ship. But now, drinking as he was from 
morning to night in the inseparable com- 
panionship of Hanson, he was too fuddled 
to notice it. After the third day out he 
scarcely even came upon the deck, and, of 
course, Hector and I were never at meals 

On the evening of the sixth of these 
miserable days, being alone upon the poop, 
I was suddenly prompted to go forward to 
examine the set of the jib. A full moon 
made a broad silver pathway across the sea 
and illumined the deck with almost the 
brilliancy of daylight. As I approached the 
foremast I saw Namba, the serang, upon the 
other side of it in talk with someone invisible 
to me. A moment later, with a shock of 
surprise, I heard Maya's rich voice in earnest 
speech. She was talking Malay. The little 
I knew of the language was insufficient for 
any comprehension of her words, but the 
tone in which she spoke was eloquent both 
of urgency and confidence. I stopped short, 
startled, scarcely crediting my ears. To 
what could that girl be persuading our 
serang — for persuading him she certainly 
was if there was any meaning in intonation ? 
Whatever it was, she succeeded. I saw the 
Malay draw the gleaming blade of his kris 
from his sash and, with a low obeisance, 
solemnly kiss it. 

I stepped forward and there, sure enough, 
was Maya. Her position at the forward side 
of the mast suggested that she had taken it 
up deliberately to avoid being seen from the 
poop. She glanced at me and, with a startled 
cry, vanished along the deck. The Malay's 
kris had disappeared as by magic. He 
smiled ingratiatingly at me and acknow- 
ledged my order to attend to the jib-sheets 
with a -i Yes, Tuant" which was oddly 


F. Britten Austin 

>8 7 

deferential after the sullenness of his de- 
meanour during the past few days. 

So strongly impressed was I by this strange 
incident, that when at midnight Stevenson 
came on deck to relieve me I resolved to 
break the silence which reigned between us. 

" Hector," I said, with the awkwardness 
of a pride reluctant to make the first over- 
ture, " whether we are friends or no, there 
is something I ought to tell you." And I 
related the occurrence. 

He listened with a frowning brow. 

" Rubbish ! " he replied, brusquely. 
" Whether we axe friends or not, Walter, 
depends on you. I have no wish to quarrel. 
But this cock-and-bull story is merely an- 
other example of your ridiculous jealousy. 
The girl is going back to live among natives 
and she was merely practising the language 
with the serang. To suggest anything eke 
is a gratuitous insult ! " 

" I suggest nothing," I answered hotly. 
" I merely draw your attention, as the 
senior officer, to a mysterious incident which 
may affect the safety of this ship." 

" You must be mad ! " he said, with a 
contempt that was like a blow in the face. 
" If you knew Maya as well as I do such an 
absurdity could not enter your head ! She 
is — but it is a waste of words to tell you 
what she is ! " 

14 I have no desire to hear your opinion of 
our passengers," I retorted. " I can form 
one for myself. I speak to you merely on 
the business of the ship." 

" I shall be glad if you will confine yourself 
to it, Mr. Watts," he said in a tone which 
ended the discussion. 

It was a troubled four hours, haunted by 
uneasy dreams in the intervals of fitful sleep, 
which I passed in my bunk. "Thank God," 
I said to myself, as I turned wearily over 
from side to side, "in forty-eight hours 
we shall have landed our passengers at 
Macassar ! " I made up my mind to leave the 
ship at Sydney. The prospect of another 
voyage shut up in hostility with Hector was 
utterly intolerable. 

THE next morning little occurred to justify 
my apprehensions of the night before. I 
had the watch from four to eight, but I 
was on deck after breakfast. My cabin was 
an unbearable oven in the blazing sun which 
poured down upon us. On deck there was 
at least a breeze. But, apparently indifferent 
to the heat, the skipper sat drinking in the 
cabin with the passenger. The stuff was 
accumulating in him. He was now beyond 
the fuddled stage. I heard him roaring out 
profane old sea-chanties with a complete dis- 
regard for the lady on deck. 

Wondering how Hanson was taking this 
affront to his daughter's ears, I glanced down 

Digitized by v_iOOQ It 

through the skylight. He sat at the table 
callously unperturbed, his eyes fixed on the 
foolish old skipper. As I watched him I saw 
him half fill the old man's glass with neat 
whisky. His own remained by his side 
untouched. For a moment all my suspicions 
leaped up in me. Was he deliberately 
making the skipper drunk ? I dismissed the 
thought. The idea was absurd. In twenty- 
four hours we should be landing him at 
Macassar. They were not gambling. I 
could imagine no advantage to be derived 
from such deliberate malice. He was prob- 
ably merely safeguarding his own head 
while being sociable with the skipper. So I 
satisfied myself and turned to look along the 
deck in alarm for Maya's delicacy. The old 
man was really going too far in his choice of 

She was in the waist of the ship, side by 
side with Hector, as usual. As I looked, 
Nam ba, the serang, passed them, and I thought 
— I could not be sure — that a quick glance 
of intelligence lit up the eyes of both. But 
there was nothing in the slightest degree 
suspicious in the demeanour of the crew. 
Namba himself was all activity and respect- 

When I went down to dinner, I found the 
skipper sottishly querulous as he sat with 
his untouched food before him and a glass 
of spirits at his side. We were alone. 
Hanson had joined his daughter upon the 
deck. Hector had of course relieved me. 

The old man looked at me with bleared 

14 W-where are we, M-Mr. Watts ? " he 
asked, thickly. 44 Getting n-near port ? " 

44 We passed the Lauriot Islands at seven 
this morning, sir," I answered. " We were 
4.40 south, 116.30 east by noon observation. 
Course east-south-east-a-half-east. Wind a 
point south of west." 

The old man nodded his head sagely. 
However fuddled he was, his seaman's in- 
stinct was not obscured. He could smell 
his way across the ocean in a fog. 

The words were scarcely out of my mouth 
when we were both startled by a sharp cry 
and the scuffle of a commotion on deck. 
Simultaneously we felt the ship swing round 
and heard the patter of feet as men ran to 
brace the yards to the new course. On that 
empty sea there was not the slightest reason 
for such a change. The old man sprang to 
his feet. 

" What in thunder ? " he roared, 

following his unfinished query by a string of 
expletives as he scrambled up the com- 
panion-way to the deck. I ascended close at 
his heels. 

We dashed out on to the poop to see 
Hanson standing by the side of the helms- 
man. The serang was down in the waist, 



A Siren of the Tropics 

shouting orders to the men at the main 
braces. Stevenson was not at the moment 
visible. The girl stood near her father. 
There was a pang at my heart as I perceived 
her. Never had I seen her look so superbly 
beautiful as she was then. 

The skipper threw one quick look aloft 
and sprang to the binnacle. 

" Who's changed the course ? " he de- 
manded, angrily, after a glance at the com- 
pass-card. He looked furiously round the 
deck for the mate. " Mr. Stevenson 1 " 

Hanson interrupted him. There was a 
grim smile on his hard face. 

" I changed the course, Captain," he said. 
" This ship is now under my orders t " 

" What ! " cried the old man, aghast at 
this audacity. " You damned pirate, you I " 
With the blindly-violent instinct of a half- 
drunken man, he whipped out a revolver and 
pulled the trigger. Hanson had no time for 
a movement. With the crack of it he went 
over, backwards. 

There was a wild shrill cry, and, like a tiger 
upon an elephant, the girl sprang upon the 
skipper, a flash of steel in her hand. The 
old man collapsed with a kris up to the hilt 
in his breast. 

I STOOD for a moment frozen with horror. 
Before I could intervene, the girl disen- 
gaged herself and, glancing towards me, 
uttered a sharp ejaculation in Malay. I swung 
round to see the serang's kris poised for a 
thrust between my shoulder-blades . In obedi - 
ence, evidently, to her imperative command, 
he dropped his weapon. A moment later I 
found myself in the grasp of three of the 
crew with my hands firmly trussed behind 
my back. They fastened me deftly to a 
stanchion so that I could not move. What- 
ever happened, I was henceforth a helpless 

Then, for the first time, I perceived Hector. 
He was lying, gagged and bound, at the 
other side of the hatch. At a word from 
Maya, he was assisted, still bound, to his 
feet. The gag was taken from his mouth, 
but he remained silent. I hope never again 
to see such an expression on a man's face as 
that with which he regarded the girl who 
stood before him. 

Horror-stricken as I was, I could not help 
a thrill of admiration. If ever she looked a 
queen, it was then. She was complete 
mistress of the situation. The whole oc- 
currence — apart from the death of Hanson 
— had undoubtedly been planned. The crew, 
headed by the serang, looked up to her now, 
in default of her father, as the unquestioned 
source of authority. She uttered a sharp 
command in Malay, and two of them flung 
the skipper overboard with as much in- 
difference as if he were old clothes. Her 

by L^OOgle 

^father's body was removed to the cabin. 
Then, obedient to her order, the Malays 
quitted the poop, leaving only the helmsman 
placidly steering the new course and Maya 
standing between her captives. 

She ignored me as though I did not exist. 
Her eyes were fixed on Hector. He stood 
with his hands fastened behind his back, his 
handsome face stern, meeting her gaze with 
a look before which even a hardened man 
might have quailed. But she smiled, smiled 
with an almost childish triumph. 

" Hector ! " she said. " Forgive me ! 
Forgive me for not being quite sure of you — 
it was better that you should be bound. You 
have ideas I cannot always understand. 
But now, my beloved ! " — she stretched out 
her arms to him — " now you can be king in 
your island ! King, with me for queen ! 
What is done is done ! Think no more of it. 
Take command of your ship, my king — and 
let us sail for the kingdom that awaits us ! " 

Despite the tenderness, the passion in her 
tone, she was evidently not sure of him. 
With the inherent wary craftiness of the 
savage, she took no risks. Hector was as 
helpless as I in his bonds. 

" Answer, O my king 1 " she implored him. 
" Answer, that I may cut your bonds 1 " 

Beautiful as she was, Hector, I thought, 
in that supreme moment, was a match for 
her. He stood proudly erect, his handsome 
blond head thrown back, his blue eyes, that 
could be so fascinating, cold now in an in- 
expressible disdain. 

" I will certainly navigate the ship," he 
replied — "to Macassar I " 

" To Macassar ? " she repeated, uncom- 

" To hand you over to the British Consul." 
Tone and words were explicit. 

She laughed. 

" Don't play with me, Hector ! I mean 
what I say." Her voice went thrillingly 
soft as she came close up to him, laid her 
hands upon his shoulders, looked into his 
eyes with a melting passion to which the 
sternest might have succumbed. " Our 
island — the island of our dreams, of our talks 
together — is there waiting for us. It was my 
father's island — and now it is yours, my 
beloved, my man, my king ! Your island 
and mine for. our kingdom of love together ! 
It is there — I can show it